A Political Marriage
by Helena L
Summary: A romance, of sorts, centred around the Landsmeet and its aftermath. M!Cousland/Anora, some mention of Cousland/Morrigan.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a sequel/companion piece to my other fic 'Sins of a Father', though it's not necessary to read that one before this. It will continue up to the end of the game and possibly beyond.**  
**_

* * *

**A Political Marriage**

Chapter 1

_When Aedan first laid eyes on the fair Anora, he was captivated by her beauty, and fell in love with her upon the instant. And so he cast aside the scheming witch who had ensorcelled him, and vowed to make the young Queen his wife._

– From 'The Tale of Aedan the Warden', written at an unspecified time after the Fifth Blight

...

As Aedan Cousland struggled up the stone steps to the Market District, it wasn't his bruises and aching muscles that spurred him on, or the thought of guards hot on his trail. It was the fervent desire for a bath, a change of clothes and a very substantial meal.

It had taken him nearly half an hour to shake off the other two newly-promoted guards in his patrol. Eventually, knowing that the discovery of his escape grew more inevitable with every passing minute, he'd persuaded them to duck into a tavern for a celebratory drink. There he'd excused himself to visit the privy, slipped out through a back door, and stripped off his armour as fast as was humanly possible, grabbing some clothes from a washing line before making his escape over a wall. He hoped the owner of those grubby rags wouldn't miss them too much; _he_ certainly wouldn't.

At least he still had his sword. He clasped a hand to the pommel, reassured by the feeling of cool, solid steel against his palm. The Cousland blade, the one he'd shoved through Howe's treacherous gut only a day earlier. He felt a small flicker of satisfaction at the memory.

The marketplace thronged with people, and in the midst of them all was Sergeant Kylon, peering into the crowd with his usual long-suffering expression. Out of sheer habit, Aedan nodded to him as he passed. The man frowned at him in confusion, then did a sudden double-take.

"Warden! Is that you?" He leaned towards Aedan, lowering his voice. "I heard you'd been taken in by the palace guard. Sounds like you caused quite a bloodbath at Howe's estate."

"So I did." Aedan grinned rather viciously, showing a flash of bared teeth, then clapped a hand to the sergeant's shoulder. "Do me a favour, Kylon. If Loghain's thugs come looking for me, tell them your men saw me fleeing the city."

"Right you are, lad. Best be gone, then, before anyone sees us talking."

Aedan went on his way, thanking all the saints that he'd managed to make a friend of Kylon. He knew the man was risking his position, and possibly his life, by aiding a man accused of treason and murder. But he'd certainly done enough to help Kylon the last time he was in Denerim; the guardsman surely owed him a favour or two.

The guards at the gate of Eamon's estate didn't recognise him, and moved quickly to bar his way as he tried to enter. "It's me, you fools," he snarled – a little unfairly, perhaps, but he'd not had a good day.

"My lord! Forgive me, I didn't realise – "

"Never mind, just let me in." It didn't help Aedan's mood to imagine what he must look like right now. That bath was clearly becoming a matter of urgency.

It was Alfric who greeted him inside with a volley of joyous barks, launching himself at his master with an enthusiasm that nearly knocked him to the ground. Aedan laughingly tried to fend him off, wondering if his loyal hound had been waiting for him at the door since the previous day. Alistair was the next to arrive, clearly on the alert for potential intruders; when he saw Aedan, he let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Aedan! Well, thank the Maker for that." He shook his head. "We've been going crazy wondering what was happening to you in there. Are you hurt?"

"Not badly. A few scrapes and bruises." Aedan gingerly fingered the sore lump on the side of his head. "I imagine Loghain planned to interrogate me himself, but I escaped before he had the chance."

"Well, that's a relief. You know, poor Leliana was getting pretty upset. She blames herself for getting you captured at Howe's estate."

Aedan sighed. "It wasn't her fault. She may have been the first to go down, but I knew there wasn't much chance of getting past Cauthrien's men. I just wanted to create a distraction so that the Queen could escape." He paused. "I assume she made it here safely?"

"Anora? Yes, she's fine. She's in her room, doing… whatever it is women do in their rooms. Powdering her nose, or something." Alistair glanced down the hallway, then shrugged and turned back to Aedan. "Honestly, it's a good thing you arrived when you did. Morrigan and Leliana had some insane plan to break into Fort Drakon disguised as Chantry sisters – "

"As _Chantry_ sisters?"

"Well, if you think that's crazy, you should have heard Zevran and Oghren. They were going to be 'The Famous Broma Brothers' and entertain the troops with a comedy act. Wynne said something about knitting scarves…"

Aedan clasped a hand to his forehead. "What did I do to deserve you people? What was _your_ plan, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Me? I was just going to take the mabari and pretend to be delivering him to the kennels. Hey," he added, a little defensively, "at least it's _simple_, right?"

The others were arriving now, attracted by Alfric's happy barks and the sound of voices in the hallway. Leliana gasped when she saw Aedan, rushing up to fling her arms around his neck. He squeezed her back tightly, relieved to see that she and the others had made it home in safety. He'd insisted they be allowed to leave Howe's estate in return for his surrender, but for all he knew, the guards could have charged off after them once Cauthrien's men had dragged him away.

He was amused to note the contrast with Morrigan, who hung back from the others with a faint smile on her face. Of course, he realised, she had her enchanted ring – she must have known all along that he wasn't seriously hurt.

"Good to see you made it back, Morrigan," he said softly. She gave him a tiny nod, but said nothing.

"Oh, you poor boy. Just look at you!" That was Wynne, hurrying towards him from the direction of the dinner hall. A quick movement of her hands, and Aedan was enveloped in a cloud of soothing blue light. His skin tingled slightly as the magical energy coursed through him, healing bruised flesh and knitting together small cuts and abrasions.

"Thanks, Wynne." He winked at her. "I don't suppose you could magic away all this dirt as well?"

"No, I could not," she said severely. "And even if I could, I wouldn't waste my mana on getting you clean. Ask the servants to draw you a bath."

"You'd better speak to Eamon as well," Alistair added. "He and the Queen were saying the Landsmeet couldn't be settled until you got back. I'll bet they can't wait to start talking politics with you."

"Well, give me a chance to clean up first. I can't present myself before the Queen in this state." Aedan's stomach grumbled loudly. "Oh, and someone please tell the cooks to lay on some food. I'm not exaggerating when I say that I could eat a horse."

There was no horse waiting for him when he emerged from his bath, but some marvellous sprite had left him a plate of cold chicken, ham and thickly-cut slices of buttered bread. He attacked it with gusto, cursing his impossible appetite – it was certainly one of the greatest downsides of being a Grey Warden. When he'd finally taken the edge off his hunger, he paused before the glass to tidy himself up, running a comb through his hair and trimming back a day's worth of beard growth. Good thing he'd taken the time to visit a barber after he arrived in Denerim.

Dressing was more difficult; the clothes he wore on the road were scarcely better than the rags he'd just thrown away. Eamon had offered to lend him some of his own garments, but he was shorter and stodgier than Aedan, and the clothes barely fit – not to mention being about two decades behind the latest court fashions. Leliana, seeing him trying to struggle into one of Eamon's doublets, let out a gasp of horror. "What are you thinking? You can't wear _that_ in front of the Queen!"

"I don't think I have much choice, Leli." He paused in the act of stuffing his arm through an overly-tight sleeve. "It's either this, or one of Lady Isolde's evening gowns."

"Now _that_ would be a sight," Alistair remarked, from across the room. "I wonder how the Queen would react?"

"Perhaps I could dance the Remigold for her as well." Aedan gave the sleeve another tug, and grimaced at the sound of a ripping seam. Leliana rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Wear your _armour_," she said. "It suits you better, anyway."

It took him some time to don the armour, but he had to admit that she was right. The elven armour he'd worn to Howe's estate was probably lost for good, but he looked well enough in a suit of silverite heavy chainmail of dwarven make. He would have to remember to pay a visit to Wade the armour-smith before the Landsmeet.

He hoped the Queen would approve. He'd seen little of her in Howe's estate, as she'd been in disguise, but he did remember her as very beautiful. And though even he knew better than to flirt with Cailan's wife – widow, now – it would be pleasant to win a few smiles from the notoriously icy Anora Mac Tir.

Aedan had spent little time at court, but some of his acquaintance – generally fuelled by a little too much wine – had attempted to strike up a flirtation with the Queen. From what he'd heard, their reception made the Anderfels look warm and inviting by comparison. Her would-be suitors bandied words like 'frigid' and 'ice-queen', but Aedan suspected that she was simply being cautious. She couldn't risk any hint of impropriety, especially when she'd failed to give Cailan an heir.

He was still musing on this when he entered Eamon's private study, to find both Anora and her maid Erlina in the room with him. She had swapped her ill-fitting guard's uniform for a silken gown, probably one of Isolde's, and looked remarkably cool and composed for someone who'd just escaped a murderer's clutches. Only the way she was twisting her fingers together betrayed a hint of tension.

He bowed low to the Queen, receiving a gracious nod in return, before turning to Eamon. The Arl stood hastily, his eyes lighting up with relief.

"Maker's breath! It's good to see you in one piece, my friend." He looked Aedan over anxiously. "I assume the guards in the fort didn't knock you about too badly?"

"No, not too much. For a supposedly 'impregnable' fortress, I found it remarkably easy to escape." Aedan turned to Anora. "With respect, your Majesty, I expected better from your father's men. They left me alone in a cell with one rather stupid guard, and my equipment in a chest nearby. I almost wanted to give them tips."

Her lips twitched. "Well, I suppose we should all be thankful they weren't better prepared. We have been praying for your safe return, Warden."

"Thank you, my lady. I'm glad to see you arrived here safely."

"I was... uncertain you would respond as you did, considering the consequences," she said quietly. "I am glad you did. Thank you."

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he might have said more. But she was already turning away to address Eamon, her manner brisk and businesslike.

"Now, however, we must work together. And quickly." She drew breath. "My father has gone mad. I didn't believe it at first, but he is gripped by a paranoia so severe it prevents him from seeing sense. He saw me as a threat, yet even now I'm certain he will be telling the nobles you are dangerous murderers that have kidnapped and mind-controlled me."

"You don't think he could be persuaded to see reason?"

"I thought so," she said softly. "I'd hoped so." She looked a little sad, and Aedan couldn't help wondering how she felt about conniving with her father's enemies. He couldn't imagine betraying his own father that way – but then, his father had never left him at the mercy of a sadistic bastard like Howe. That would surely put a strain on even the strongest bonds of family loyalty.

"Howe's influence was strong," the Queen continued. "His death can only be a good thing. But even that will not be enough. I know my father, and he is committed to his course. He will see this through, no matter what."

"Would it be possible for him to take the throne without you?"

She hesitated. "Perhaps. It will be more difficult for him– but if my father says the Grey Wardens are the enemy, many will believe it. He is a legend."

"It's true," Eamon agreed, looking slightly glum. "Our position in the Landsmeet is not strong, and this does little to help us."

"I see." Aedan pondered for a moment. "Your Majesty, you did promise to aid us in return for rescuing you. We've plenty of charges to lay against your father, but little solid proof. Is there any information you could give us which might help to strengthen our case against him?"

"Indeed there is," she said promptly. "You have only just arrived in the city, so perhaps you are unaware of some... recent events. Denerim has been in turmoil since Ostagar; many people here are angry or grieving."

"And?"

"Strangely, the unrest is worst in the alienage. Few elves accompanied the army, so they should have little reason to be upset – which means that Howe and my father must have given them reason." Her expression darkened slightly. "I don't know what is happening there, but I am certain my father has his hands in it."

"A useful lead, Anora," Eamon said mildly, "but you could have sent this information with your maid."

"That is true. I feared for my safety as Howe's prisoner, but to tell the truth I sent Erlina to you because I hoped we might join forces." Her eyes flickered briefly from Eamon's face to Aedan's. "You need that evidence for the Landsmeet, but you also need a stronger candidate for the throne. You need me."

_Ah_. Aedan had to hide a smile. So that was her game, was it? He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; Anora was known as a far more astute politician than her husband, and it was no secret that she'd effectively ruled the country during his five-year reign. Little wonder that she should be unwilling to give up the throne to his illegitimate half-brother.

"And how are you a better candidate, your Majesty?" he asked, his tone and expression carefully neutral.

"I have no doubt Alistair is biddable enough, and decent, but even with his blood he is no king. You think only I can see it?" She waved a hand dismissively. "Not only that, he is also a Grey Warden – it will look like you are trying to put a Warden on the throne, despite your claims. I am a neutral party… and I am already queen."

Eamon was frowning. "Anora, you are indeed Cailan's widow, but – "

"I am the daughter of Ferelden's greatest general." There was a hint of rebuke in her tone. "Who do you think truly ruled this nation for the last five years – Cailan? I am what this country needs, not an untrained king who does not even want the throne. I can help you stop my father."

Aedan had no intention of making Alistair king if he could possibly avoid it, but he was not about to let Anora know that. Not yet, at least. "We'll consider what you've said, your Majesty," he said, before Eamon had the chance to reply. "Might I request that you give us some time alone to discuss your proposal?"

"Of course," she said at once. "For now, I think I will retire to my room. Warden, when you have a moment, I ask that you speak to me in private."

A brief, regal nod to both men and she was gone, followed by the faithful Erlina. Eamon was looking slightly stunned. "Well, she's quite… spirited," he murmured, as soon as she was out of earshot, and then suddenly smiled – almost fondly, Aedan thought. "I remember when Loghain first brought her to Denerim. Poor Cailan was a good boy, but Anora was always two steps ahead. Had him jumping when she snapped since the first time she batted her eyelashes."

"I can imagine. I suspect our gracious Queen has a lot of people jumping when she snaps."

The Arl nodded. "I cannot help thinking she may be trouble. But we should keep her close, all the same."

"Do you think so, ser? To be honest, I think she has a point." Aedan drew a long breath. "Up till now, we've been pressing Alistair's claim because we've had no other alternative. But he doesn't want to be king, and he's certainly not trained for it. If Anora can be trusted – and I certainly agree that that's a big 'if' – why should we not support her instead?"

Eamon's expression had darkened considerably. "Anora was a capable administrator for Cailan's lands, but she has not a drop of royal blood. We did not fight the Orlesians all those years just to lose our royal line in a single generation – not when there's a surviving son of the blood."

"I do understand, ser, but we have to be realistic about this. Alistair doesn't know the first thing about being king – "

"No, I don't," said Alistair's voice behind them. Both of them swung around, startled, to see him standing in the doorway. "Which I've told both of you on many occasions. If Anora's turned against Loghain, I say let her keep the crown." His voice dropped to a mumble. "It looks better on her, anyway."

Aedan stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What if the two of them were to marry?"

"Are you serious?" Alistair exploded. "No. Never mind. I – I don't even want to hear the rest of this. Y-you two just keep talking about me." He stalked over into a corner of the room. "I'm just going to stand over here, with my fingers in my ears."

And he proceeded to do exactly that, huffily turning his back on the others, in a way that strongly reminded Aedan of his nephew Oren in a pet. The two older men exchanged glances.

"Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private?" Eamon murmured, gesturing towards the door of his own room. Aedan nodded, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, and followed him through the door.

"You're both wrong," Eamon continued, as soon as they were inside. "With a few months of experience, Alistair will make a fine king. He knows how to lead troops to defend his land; he knows how to stand and fight for justice. He knows how to show compassion to those less fortunate, and how to trust to the Maker's guidance to know right from wrong – "

"I won't deny that, ser. But what he _doesn't_ have any idea of is how to rule a country." Aedan sighed. "With all due respect, Eamon, you've barely seen Alistair since he was ten years old. Whereas I've been fighting alongside him for the past eight months. He's a fine soldier, I grant you that – as long as someone else is giving the orders. But the only thing I'd trust him to lead is a dash to the cheese pantry, and frankly, I'm not even sure about that one."

The Arl winced. "I only wish Maric had taken more time to instruct the lad in the politics of ruling. I did my best, but..."

"Really? Alistair told me you'd made it very clear to him, in no uncertain terms, that there was no chance of him ever becoming king. He was quite adamant about it, in fact."

"Well, we all hoped Cailan and Anora would secure the succession... but that was not the only thing I tried to teach him. It may well be the only part he took to heart, however." Eamon shook his head. "Regardless, I'm sure he will be fine. Remember, he knows who to turn to for aid should that training fail him."

_Meaning you, I suppose_, Aedan thought, though he didn't say it. Instead he said, "And if we could persuade them to marry?"

Eamon nodded slowly. "That would certainly solve a lot of problems, and put forth the strongest argument before the Landsmeet to remove Loghain from power. But I suspect it might take a lot of persuading to get past her pride and his humility."

"I'll see what I can do." The dinner gong sounded from the hall, and Aedan realised that he was already hungry again. "Perhaps we could continue this discussion once I've spoken to Anora?"

"As you say." Eamon's eyes narrowed. "But Warden, be careful how much trust you place in her. I do not for a moment think Anora means to give up her power easily."

"You don't need to tell me that, ser." He gestured politely for Eamon to go before him, and followed him out of the room.

On emerging from the chamber, he was surprised to find Riordan in Eamon's study. In the 'excitement' of his capture and escape, he'd all but forgotten the man they'd rescued from Howe's dungeon. He paused to exchange a few words with his fellow Warden, glad to see him safe and recovering from his injuries, but his mind was elsewhere.

From the moment the Arl had first suggested the idea, he'd been racking his brains for a way to avoid putting Alistair on the throne. No matter what Eamon might say, he'd yet to be convinced that the lad would make even a halfway decent king. He foresaw himself and Eamon having to prop up Alistair's reign for years on end, guiding him through the perils and pitfalls of life at court, defending him from a restive Bannorn who would take his measure at first glance. Some men might have relished the chance to rule through a puppet king, but Aedan was not one of them. Maker willing, he'd soon have his own teyrnir to attend to, and he did not want to spend the next decade playing nursemaid to a man who had no idea how to rule in his own right.

Up until now, he'd hoped to persuade Eamon to press his own rather feeble claim. Not that he expected great things from Eamon either; he was too cautious and conservative – like Harrowmont, he thought, with a rueful sigh. But he was well-respected, and popular with the Bannorn, and would doubtless have made a competent if uninspiring monarch.

Anora's arrival, however, changed everything. Aedan was wary of supporting her claim to the throne, partly because he wasn't yet sure they could trust her, and partly because he knew how badly Eamon and the royalist faction would react. But if she and Alistair were to marry…

Riordan's soft voice brought him out of his reverie. "Is something wrong, my friend? The others are going to lunch, I believe."

"No, nothing. I was just… thinking about the Landsmeet." It was true, in a sense; there was that hurdle to be got over before they could even think about choosing the next monarch. He'd have to speak to Sighard and Alfstanna as soon as possible, and make sure he could count on their support.

If only he'd come better prepared for this, paid more attention to the political discourse at his father's court and his mother's salons. The previous summer's Landsmeet had been the first he'd attended in years, and he'd frittered his time away on women and pleasure, just as he always did when he visited the capital. But he'd still been a boy then, for all his twenty-five years: a spoiled, pampered lordling, who'd never achieved anything of substance because he'd never needed to. He didn't blame his parents, for they'd tried to give him purpose and direction; he only wished he'd listened to them while he had the chance…

His stomach grumbled loudly, reminding him that there were more pressing matters at hand. Perhaps everything would seem clearer after a good meal and a few ales. He offered a supporting arm to Riordan, noting that the man still walked with a heavy limp, and together they slowly made their way to the dinner hall where the others were waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The food prepared by Eamon's cook was not elaborate, but it was good, solid Fereldan fare: a joint of mutton with roasted potatoes and stewed vegetables, all soaked in gravy, and a fruit pie for afters. Aedan tucked in with gusto, wondering how Riordan had managed to survive on the undoubtedly meagre rations in Howe's dungeon. He was too tactful to ask, however.

Anora was not present, but all the others were there, eager to bombard him with questions about his daring escape. He answered them all as briefly as possible, and was about to try and change the subject when a sudden thought struck him. "By the way, what happened to the loot we found at Howe's place? I don't suppose we managed to salvage any of it?"

Zevran chuckled softly. "Why, my friend, have you not heard? In all the chaos at Arl Howe's estate, it seems that a rather handsome rogue slipped in and removed a few items from the treasury. Which had helpfully been left unlocked." He slipped a hand into the leather pouch on his belt and withdrew a glittering handful of gold and gems, holding them out to Aedan with a conspiratorial wink.

"Excellent work." With luck, Aedan thought, that little haul would pay for the new armour and equipment they badly needed. Their war chest was reasonably full at present, but every little helped at a time like this. And when the war was over – assuming he came out of it in one piece, of course – he'd need plenty of coin to take back Highever.

"There was this shield as well," Alistair added, through a mouthful of potato. "Some good enchantments on that one, from the look of it."

Aedan craned his neck to see the shield which lay propped against the wall, and froze. The bear's crest, heraldry of the arls of Amaranthine. He knew that shield; he'd seen it before, half-a-dozen times at least, at a certain person's back.

"Destroy it," he said roughly.

Alistair frowned. "Are you sure? We could get a good price for it if – "

"I _said_, destroy it."

The others exchanged bemused glances. Alistair looked as if he were about to say something more, but unexpectedly, Sten's gruff voice interrupted him. "_Parshaara_! If the Warden wishes it destroyed, let it be so."

An uncomfortable silence followed, after which the conversation turned to safer subjects. Aedan turned his attention to the food, feeding a few choice tidbits to Alfric as he ate. The mabari had settled down by his chair, seemingly reluctant to leave his master's side since his narrow escape from captivity.

"Drills in the courtyard in two hours," he announced, when the meal was finished. "Stop whinging!" he added, at the ensuing chorus of groans from his companions. "We can't afford to slack off just because we're in Denerim. You've had your holiday, now back to work."

"Sodding slavedriver," Oghren mumbled, shoving back his chair. "Well, I'm getting a drink while I have the chance. Who's with me?"

The others drifted away – some headed for the tavern, others to visit the market or get armour and weapons repaired. Aedan considered seeking out the banns at the Gnawed Noble, but he decided not to keep Anora waiting. She might take it as a deliberate snub, and the last thing he needed was to alienate a potentially powerful ally.

Alfric padded along behind him as he left the dining room, and he reached down to stroke the mabari's fur. "What do you say, boy? Would you like to meet the Queen?" Alfric's tail wagged cautiously. "Be on your best behaviour, then – or she might have us all executed."

The dog let out a threatening growl, baring sharp, white canines, and Aedan ruffled his fur with a low chuckle. "Only joking. I think you and I can handle one woman, hmm?"

As he set off, Alfric bounding around his heels, Aedan wondered what he was going to say to the Queen. He wished he knew Anora a little better. His mother had liked her, which was a definite point in her favour; he also knew she was popular with both commoners and the nobility, which was another. But for his own part, he'd only met her a handful of times, and his mind had not been on politics.

He remembered the first time she'd visited Highever with her father, a small blonde girl with pigtails that were so tempting to pull. The one time he'd plucked up courage to try, she'd slapped his face and called him a little wretch; otherwise she'd shown no more interest in him than any twelve-year-old would in an eight-year-old. On her next visit she'd been sixteen, and far more interesting to a boy on the cusp of adolescence, but if anything she'd paid him even less attention than before.

Apart from the Royal Wedding five years back, their only other meeting had been at the previous year's Landsmeet. He recalled watching her glide elegantly around the room, pausing here and there to join a conversation or whisper directions to a servant, and pointedly ignoring her husband's flirtations with several of the younger, more attractive women. He'd felt a little sorry for her, yet she seemed to be in her element; perhaps she considered an unsatisfying marriage a price worth paying for the influence it gave her. If so, that might make his task a little easier.

One of the maids was just leaving Anora's room as he approached, carrying a pile of plates. After she assured him that the Queen had finished her meal, he raised a hand to the door and knocked cautiously.

"Enter," called a voice from inside, and he opened the door to find Anora and Erlina playing chess at a small table – both down to a handful of pieces, he noted with interest. A fire burned low in the grate, and the room smelled faintly of perfume and fresh flowers. The Queen stood to greet him as soon as he entered; clearly she had been waiting for him.

"Hello again, Warden. It is good that you came to speak with me." She broke off suddenly as she saw Alfric. "Oh, what a beautiful animal! A purebred mabari?" She stretched out a hand towards him, but he backed away with a faint growl, placing himself firmly between Anora and his master.

"Alfric! This is our Queen, and you will show her respect!" The dog whined, but subsided a little. "My apologies, your Majesty. He's been a little… over-protective of me since I was captured by your father's men."

"You are lucky to have such a faithful protector, my lord. I've felt the want of one myself recently, I must admit." She turned to her maid. "Erlina, would you care to take… Alfric? …out of the room, so that the Warden and I can continue our discussion in private?"

"Of course, my lady."

The young elven woman hurried to Alfric's side, murmuring soothingly to him in Orlesian. Alfric whimpered, but allowed himself to be led out of the room, and Aedan closed the door firmly behind them. He turned back to find Queen Anora's gaze fixed on him intently – not cold or unfriendly, but searching. It lasted only seconds, and her eyes barely moved, yet he had the feeling that he was being examined in minute detail.

Not disconcerted, he took the opportunity to scrutinise her in return, careful not to let his eyes linger below her neckline. She was slightly built, and gave the impression of being tall, though the top of her head barely reached his chin. Pale, smooth skin and delicate features lent her an air of fragility very much at odds with her self-assured manner. Her hair was the colour of ripe wheat, and those large, deep-blue eyes regarded him with a hint of amusement.

Feeling a familiar heat steal over him, Aedan suddenly understood why all those young courtiers would risk a King's wrath to her win favour. How in the Maker's name had a hulking brute like Loghain managed to produce a daughter like this? The late Celia Mac Tir, he thought, must have been a very lovely woman.

"Do sit down, Warden," she said at last, before the silence could grow oppressive. He complied, seating himself on one of the sofas, and she settled down on the one opposite.

"First," she began, "let me say that I knew your family. Eleanor in particular was dear to me, and what Howe did… was unforgivable. How fitting he died at your hands."

She spoke a little stiffly, as if the mention of Eleanor Cousland made her uncomfortable. Aedan wasn't surprised; while he didn't suspect her of complicity in Howe's crimes, she'd certainly done nothing to punish him or counter the accusations of treason against the Couslands. He suspected that she was regretting that now, and with good reason.

"Thank you, my lady," he replied, forcing a smile. "My mother always spoke highly of you. I was just remembering the first time you visited us at Highever."

"Ah yes." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "You pulled my hair, as I recall."

"And received a well-deserved slap for it." Despite himself, he couldn't suppress a grin at her stony expression. "I take it I'm still not forgiven?"

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips, and he felt the ice between them thaw a little. "Even I don't bear grudges for that long. In any case, I think you have more than redeemed yourself with your actions yesterday."

"Howe didn't harm you at all, I take it?"

"Apart from the wound to my pride, no. But come, let us get to business." He nodded. "I will be blunt: I can see that your voice will be a strong one in days to come. It is to you that Eamon listens, and with good reason."

_I only wish he would,_ Aedan thought – but he said nothing, watching her attentively. "My father must be stopped," Anora continued, "but once that is done Ferelden will need a ruler. I would welcome your support for my throne."

"You're proposing an alliance, then?"

"That is exactly what I am proposing. When the time comes, you support my bid in the Landsmeet to remain on the throne." She leaned forward. "You will be seen as my father's enemy, yet you will be in support of his daughter. You will be seen as supporting the interests of Ferelden as opposed to solely those of the Grey Wardens. In return, I add my voice to yours. Do you see?"

"I think I do, yes." Aedan settled back against the cushions, relaxing slightly. He did see, but he wasn't about to let himself be won over so easily. "Very well, your Majesty, make your case. Why should I support you over Alistair?"

"Because I would make a better ruler." She spoke calmly, and with complete authority. "Alistair seems like a kind, well-meaning man, and biddable enough, but I have ruled this nation on Cailan's behalf for many years. I am a great queen, and as beloved by my people as I love them. Ferelden needs an effective ruler with experience to see it through the Blight and after; that is not Alistair."

"And you think my support would help? As far as most of the nobility are concerned, I'm a rebel and an outlaw."

"So you are. And yet look what you have achieved, while my father and the Bannorn squabble uselessly over the succession." Her eyes locked on to his. "You are a man who makes things happen, Warden. You are competent and powerful, and in the right place at the right time. Used to your advantage… these things could bring you far."

That sky-blue gaze held his unflinchingly. There was nothing seductive about it, at least in the traditional sense, yet it sent a jolt of heat straight to Aedan's groin. Suddenly he understood what made Anora so formidable: not just her beauty or intelligence, but her ability to read people, to sense what they wanted and turn it to her advantage. Without warning, this dry political discussion had become a battle of wills.

Whenever he had a similar clash with Morrigan – which was very frequently – it usually ended with him shoving her down onto a bedroll, taking her mercilessly until both of them were exhausted. For a brief moment, before sanity set in, he had a sudden powerful vision of doing the same to Anora – her slender body pinned beneath his, his hands tangled in her hair…

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to concentrate. "Then I take it you are offering more than just your support in the Landsmeet?"

"Indeed I am. Once I am queen, I will be in a position to grant you whatever you wish – and I shall." She paused. "This is in addition to Highever being properly restored to you; that should go without saying, I trust. For the rest… well, what is it you would ask for? Lands, wealth, power… or something more?"

"How about justice?" he said softly, his voice suddenly edged with steel. "Answer me honestly, if you will, my lady. Do you think your father knew in advance what Howe had planned for my family?"

"No," she said instantly, then hesitated. "I am not saying my father wouldn't have acted against Bryce, if he'd opposed him at the Landsmeet. But to order the cold-blooded butchery of everyone in the castle… no. Even now, after everything that's happened… I cannot believe it."

She sounded, he thought, as if she desperately _wanted_ not to believe it. He couldn't blame her for that, for he did not want to, either. Didn't want to believe that his father's old friend and comrade-in-arms, who'd fought at his side in victory and defeat, could have sat down with that monster Howe and calmly plotted out the extermination of his entire family line.

"Very well," he said at last. "I'll take your word for it. But your father's other crimes can't be so easily dismissed, your Majesty. He declared war on his own people, at the very time he should have been trying to unite them against the darkspawn. He conspired with a blood mage to poison Eamon, and almost destroyed Redcliffe as a result. He sent _another_ maleficar to negotiate with the Circle of Magi…" Aedan paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. "I'm sure you take my point."

"I do," she said quietly. "I will always be my father's daughter, but even I know he must pay for his crimes. So yes, I am willing to offer justice alongside more… tangible rewards." She smiled slightly. "Alistair might promise you the same, I suppose, but I would ask which is better: the gratitude of a weak king, or of a strong queen?"

"I see your point," he said, "but promises are easily made, your Majesty. Alistair may be weak, but at least I know I can trust him. Can I trust you?"

He'd expected one of two reactions: offended protests, or hasty reassurances. Her response surprised him, however. "You don't need to trust me. We have the same goal – that is far better than trust."

Aedan couldn't help smiling. "That's an interesting way of looking at things."

"Trust is always in very short supply at court, Warden. What you should be considering is whether I have any reason to betray you." Once again, those shrewd blue eyes stared unblinkingly into his. "You and I both know there is nothing I can say that would convince you of my sincerity; only my actions can do that. If we can reach an agreement, I will do my part – that is all I can promise you."

"I see." Enough of this game, he thought. "Very well, your Majesty, I'll be honest with you: I agree that Alistair would make a poor ruler. If it were solely my decision, I would be happy to see you as Queen. Unfortunately, I think there are many amongst the Bannorn who wouldn't agree."

"Oh, there are some who would follow Alistair out of respect for his Theirin blood," she agreed. "The others would see this as Eamon grabbing for power. But do you have a better alternative?"

Aedan hesitated. "May I ask you a rather personal question, my lady?" She nodded. "Did you love your husband?"

The Queen raised her eyebrows, clearly a little surprised by the question, but she didn't seem offended. "It seems a strange word to describe a marriage our parents arranged when he was newly born and I still in swaddling clothes. But yes, I loved him." Just for a moment, her face softened a little. "He was reckless, impetuous and charming. Had he not been king, he would have made a dashing rogue for a band of players. And we were a good pairing – he would not have wanted the burden of ruling any more than I would have liked remaining the silent wife in my husband's shadow."

She was silent for a moment, apparently lost in the memory of happier times. Only when Aedan softly cleared his throat did her eyes lose their faraway expression. "What makes you ask, Warden?"

"I was simply wondering how you would feel about marrying Alistair."

She didn't react with horror or disgust, as he had feared, but nor did she look enthusiastic. "Ignoring that the man looks so much like Cailan," she said slowly, "my main fear is that he might govern like Cailan as well. But it is true that he has Theirin blood… and to some, this is more important even than practical considerations." She heaved a sigh. "A union might be considered a compromise, but… is this something Alistair even desires?"

"Probably not, but think I could talk him around to it. Assuming you yourself would be willing, your Majesty?"

After a long pause, she slowly nodded. "If Alistair is willing to stand back and allow me to continue governing the nation, then I would be willing to have him as my king."

Aedan had to hide his surprise; he hadn't expected her to agree so readily. If nothing else, he had to respect her pragmatism. Of course, she'd been betrothed to her first husband as an infant; it was hardly surprising that she should see marriage as a continuation of politics by other means.

"I think he would be all too happy to let you do that," he said wryly. "Very well, I'll speak to him and bring you his answer tomorrow morning."

"Do so. I will be interested to hear what he has to say." She stood, and so did he. "Thank you for your time, Warden. Will I see you at dinner tonight?"

"I certainly hope so," he said with a smile. "Is there anything else I can do for you, your Majesty?"

For the first time, she looked taken aback. "I… no," she said at last. "And while I know your concern is hardly disinterested, still… thank you."

"A pleasure, my lady." He bowed low, crossing his arms over his chest in a formal salute. Anora gave him a cool nod, her expression unreadable.

The conversation had gone a lot more smoothly than Aedan had expected, yet as he left the room, he felt anything but satisfied. He'd amused himself by imagining a mild flirtation with the Queen; he certainly hadn't expected to feel such a powerful attraction to her. He would have to be careful there, very careful.

It was a pity, he thought, to compel her to marry Alistair for the sake of politics. His Warden 'brother' was a good man, for all his faults, but he could hardly imagine two people less suited to each other. Anora had steel in her, like his own mother – and she was a damned beautiful woman to boot. She deserved better than another Cailan, which was essentially what she'd be getting in Alistair – though at least with his Chantry upbringing, he'd probably be more faithful to her than Cailan had.

In the meantime, Aedan had other problems – such as a pair of breeches that suddenly felt far too tight. He set out for the room he shared with the other Wardens, hoping to get a few minutes' privacy there, but he wasn't alone; a slim, dark-haired figure was sitting hunched up on the bed, absorbed in a book.

Morrigan. She hadn't gone out with the others; she rarely did. Instead she'd stayed behind to study one of those impenetrable grimoires she'd 'borrowed' from the Circle tower.

It had been over three weeks since they'd last slept together. The last time he'd asked to join her in her tent, he'd been rudely rebuffed – just one of her whims, he'd thought at the time, but he'd be damned if he'd dance to her tune. So he'd waited for her to come to him, and she hadn't done so. Well, he'd waited long enough; time to show her who was boss.

He closed the door behind him, quietly turning the key in the lock, and began to remove his armour piece by piece. She didn't look round at him. When he'd finished, he sat down beside her on the bed and leaned into her, pressing his lips against the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck. One arm snaked around her waist, pulling her back against him; the other hand slid underneath the flimsy strip of cloth that covered her breasts. She stiffened, but didn't resist.

"You haven't thanked me yet, you know," he murmured against her neck. "For sacrificing myself so that you could escape."

"So that poor little Leliana could escape, you mean. _I_ was in no danger."

"Even so." His roughened fingers gently stroked her nipple, felt it harden under his touch. "I think I deserve a reward, don't you?"

She didn't answer, but he felt her pulse quicken beneath heated skin, and her breaths grew slower and deeper. Still holding her firmly with one arm, he let his other hand wander slowly downwards and slide beneath her skirt, probing gently until he found the spot he wanted. She let out a soft gasp and squirmed in his arms, but he ignored her; if she really objected to anything he was doing, he'd be an icicle or a ball of magical fire by now.

He pushed her down onto the bed, swiftly enough that she had no time to react, and captured her mouth hungrily beneath his. She was so warm and smooth and soft – her lips, her skin, her hair. Just for a second he closed his eyes, briefly picturing golden hair in place of the black – and suddenly she was wrenching herself away from his grasp, digging her fingernails into his arms to loosen his grip.

" 'Tis not me you want, is it?" She laughed scornfully at his expression. "You are easier to read than a picture-book. Who is it you desire, then – our little bard, or the ice-queen? Mayhap even the old woman?"

Aedan couldn't stem the rush of blood to his face, but he wasn't about to give her the upper hand. "Jealousy, Morrigan? Is this why you've been in such high dudgeon these past few weeks?"

" 'Tis not _jealousy_!" The golden eyes flashed with unexpected rage. " 'Tis merely that I will not be used like this! If you seek only a warm body to ease your frustrations, find yourself a tavern-wench or a serving maid. I have told you before that I do not share – "

"And what was your excuse last time?" he demanded. "I wouldn't have expected this nonsense from you, of all people! If you're getting tired of me, Morrigan, all you need to do is tell me so."

She glowered at him, but said nothing – a response which made him suspect he'd hit on the truth. "We had an agreement," he continued, in a lower voice. "No entanglements. You know damn well I haven't touched another woman since you told me you objected to it. But you've no right to keep me tied to you if you don't want me any longer."

Morrigan opened her mouth to speak – and then, suddenly, her expression changed. The anger and indignation seemed to drain from her face as quickly as they had appeared, leaving only a look of weariness he'd seldom seen in her before.

"Perhaps you are right," she said at last. "I suddenly find myself acting the possessive wife. I do not enjoy it, and I have little doubt that 'tis just as unappealing to you." She sighed. "Very well, let us end this. It will be for the best, no doubt."

"Fine," he said curtly, pushing himself up off the bed and struggling to his feet. He was tempted to walk out of the room without a backward glance, but pride as well as a vague sense of guilt made him hesitate. "If I've done anything to hurt you," he said gruffly, "I apologise. It wasn't my intent."

"Think nothing of it." She was not looking at him. "I certainly shall not."

Aedan left the room with gritted teeth and a stiff, awkward gait, even more frustrated than before. He couldn't put the blame entirely on Morrigan – he _had_ been using her, in a sense – but they both knew this was only an excuse. At some point he must have said or done something to upset her, though he couldn't imagine what that might be. _Women!_

And the day was only half over. He still had a difficult task ahead of him, convincing the Gnawed Noble mob to support the Wardens' cause – to say nothing of investigating Loghain's dealings in the Alienage. What was more, the true test of his persuasive abilities was yet to come: getting Anora to agree to his plan had been the easy part. Now he just needed to convince Alistair, the world's most reluctant monarch, that he wanted to marry his worst enemy's daughter for the good of Ferelden.

It was a good thing he enjoyed a challenge.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: This chapter was meant to include Aedan's proposal to Anora, but it was getting ridiculously long and taking forever to write, so I decided to split it in two. The next part will follow shortly._

* * *

Chapter 3

It wasn't until that evening, after he'd visited Sighard and Alfstanna and been assured of their support, that Aedan finally got the chance to speak to Alistair alone. When he found him skulking about in the library after dinner, he suspected the man had been deliberately avoiding him. He was not about to be put off so easily, however – so he settled himself into a reading chair, where Alistair couldn't avoid seeing him, and fixed his friend with a cheerful smile.

"Hello, Alistair," he said genially. "Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Yes, I suppose." Alistair passed a hand across his brow. "It's time for The Talk, is it?"

"That's right, The Talk. You see, Alistair, when a daddy King and a mummy serving wench get together – "

"Ha, ha. Yes, I do know where little bastard princes come from." He flung himself down into a chair. "This is about me becoming king, isn't it?"

"Correct."

"So, I'm guessing someone told Anora I was planning to steal her throne? She has a nasty glare." He fidgeted slightly. "Did anyone mention this wasn't my idea? I think she's a great queen. As far as I'm concerned, she's welcome to it."

"I take it you still don't want to be king, then?"

"No, I don't," he said bluntly. "I'm not a political man. I like being a Warden. There's real evil out there and it's something we can fight – something we can defeat. Making laws, settling disputes… that's not me." He sighed. "I mean, you know me. Do you think I'd make a good king?"

Aedan's lips twitched. "Do you want an honest answer, or a kind one?"

"Er… start with the kind one, maybe?"

"I think you'd make a bloody awful king, Alistair."

The young man winced. "Right. I guess I'd better not ask for the honest one, then."

"It's basically the same, only longer." Aedan leaned back with a sigh. "Look, I'm not trying to be cruel or put you down; it's no bad thing to know your own limitations. But it's Eamon you need to convince, not me." His friend's face fell precipitously. "You do realise he can't actually force you to take the throne? What exactly do you think he'll do to you if you refuse?"

"Nothing, it's just…" Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "What am I supposed to say to him? 'Oh, by the way, that whole duty thing – could we just ignore that?' The Arl's been good to me, and not because I was a good backup plan. I just… I don't want to feel like I'm letting him down."

_Maker, grant me strength._ As so often in his conversations with Alistair, Aedan found himself gritting his teeth in exasperation. Once, just _once_, couldn't the man make up his mind for himself and stick to it?

"Well, you'll need to make a decision one way or the other," he pointed out, with as much patience as he could muster. "Preferably sooner, rather than later."

"I know, I know. I suppose I could always flip a coin." Alistair smiled wryly. "Seriously, what do _you_ think I should do? Go ahead and be king, just let it happen?"

"I think you should marry Anora."

If he'd had any doubts as to as to how Alistair might react, they were swiftly erased. The young Warden practically leapt out of his chair in horror. "What, _marry_ her? As in marriage? As in be her husband?"

Aedan fought to keep a straight face. "Yes, Alistair, that kind of marriage."

"You… you've _spoken_ to her about this. You did, didn't you?" He was staring at Aedan as if he'd just sprouted horns from his head. "Why would you do that? Did you take a blow to the head? That's crazy!"

"No, it isn't. I'd look a pretty fool if I talked you into marrying her only for her to refuse, wouldn't I?"

"But… _why_?" His friend was gazing at him in utter bewilderment. "How could you possibly think that was a good idea?"

Seeing his friend's appalled face, Aedan found himself torn between amusement and frustration. He kept having to remind himself that Alistair's upbringing had been very different from his own, that things that seemed natural and obvious to him must appear utterly bizarre to a boy raised in a Chantry. For Aedan, the fact that he'd marry for political advantage had never been in question. But how to explain this to Alistair, a man raised to a life of celibacy and self-denial, who still blushed like a schoolboy at the mere mention of sex?

"Because it's a good compromise for the Landsmeet," he said at last. "Think about it. You're a Theirin, and Anora's a strong leader who's popular with the people. Marrying her would please her supporters as well as royalists like Eamon – and then, once the Blight is over, she can help you to govern Ferelden. It's perfect."

Alistair frowned. "I do see your point, I suppose, but… oh, Maker. He sank his head into his hands. "You think Anora would agree to this? Really?"

"Yes, I do. She'd prefer to rule alone, of course, but she'll marry you if that what it takes to keep her throne." Aedan paused; his next point was distasteful, to say the least, but it needed to be said. "I assume you realise you'll probably have to execute her otherwise?"

"What?!"

"Or lock her up somewhere, at least. Otherwise I guarantee you'll be facing rebellion within a year or two." He let his words sink in before continuing. "Remember, Anora's been doing this her whole life. She's not going to give up the throne without a fight. She fully believes she's the only one qualified to rule Ferelden, and there are plenty of others who feel the same way."

"Well, at least we agree on _something_." Alistair heaved a sigh. "I take it there's not much chance of her backing down gracefully?"

Aedan shook his head. "I'm not saying she'd start agitating against you in public; she's too subtle for that. But she'll wait for you to make a mistake – and believe me, you _will_ make mistakes – and she'll start gathering support amongst the people who are dissatisfied with your rule. Before you know it, you'll either be rotting in a dungeon somewhere or have another messy civil war on your hands."

"But…" Alistair gestured helplessly. "Sorry if I'm missing something really obvious here, but… Anora is very popular, yes? And she hasn't _done_ anything. Wouldn't people be angry if I executed her just because she might rebel against me?"

"They probably would, yes, and you might well face rebellions anyway. I never said it was a _good_ solution, Alistair."

"So basically you're saying I either have to marry her or kill her." When Aedan nodded, his friend let out a groan. "I guess I don't really have a choice, do I? You're a heartless bastard, you know that?"

Though he spoke half-jokingly, the words pricked at Aedan's conscience. "I'm not heartless," he said shortly. "If I were, I'd have left you to find all this out for yourself, the hard way. I'm telling you this because you're my friend, and I like Anora, and I want what's best for both of you as well as for Ferelden. I know it's not what either of you would choose for yourselves, but… well, that's politics for you, I'm afraid."

"I suppose you're right." Alistair closed his eyes for a moment. "All right, you've convinced me. If it comes to that, I'll agree to marry her… Maker help us all."

Aedan almost had to laugh at the expression on his friend's face. "Honestly, Alistair, anyone would think I was asking you to marry Flemeth. She's beautiful and clever, and she's a skilled politician who knows how to govern. You could do a lot worse, you know."

"I'll take your word for it, but truthfully? I think I'd be better off against the darkspawn." He made a face. "Why not marry her yourself, if you like her so much? You'd make a better king than I would."

"Because – " Aedan broke off suddenly. "Because…" he repeated, and stopped, his mind whirring. Marry her yourself… _marry her yourself_…

"Maker's breath," he said softly. "I think you may be onto something there."

"Haha. No, I wasn't – " Alistair's jaw dropped. "Holy Maker, you're _serious_, aren't you? You're actually thinking of marrying her!"

A grin was slowly spreading over Aedan's face. "Alistair, my friend? I think you may just have found the answer to all our problems."

Alistair groaned again. "This is another one of your _ideas_, isn't it? Like when you decided to kill the High Dragon?" He shook his head. "You do realise Eamon's going to go right back into a coma when he hears about this?"

"Then, we'd better make sure he _doesn't_ hear about it," Aedan said pointedly. "Right, Alistair?"

"Not from me, that's for certain." Alistair ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Oh no, you're not getting me involved in this one. I'll just be hiding under my bed, clutching my golem doll and waiting for the yelling to stop."

"You do that." Aedan stood up. "And I'll settle things with Anora – assuming she's willing, of course. Just make sure no one else hears about this, all right? Unless you actually want to end up married to her…"

"I don't," he said hastily. "I'll be good, I promise."

Just as Aedan reached the door, he heard Alistair's voice behind him. "What about Morrigan?"

"What about her?" He didn't turn around. "We're not in love, Alistair. I already told you that."

"I know, I just thought…"

Aedan hesitated, his hand grasping the doorknob. "If you must know," he said heavily, "it ended earlier today. By her choice."

"Ah. Okay. I'll… just shut up now, shall I?"

"Good idea."

Aedan's mind was racing as he left the room. How could he not have thought of this before? He could have kicked himself that it had taken Alistair's jokey comment to show him the obvious way out of their difficulties. He might be overlooking something, of course, but the advantages of a match between him and Anora were undeniable.

He was a teyrn's son, closer in rank to Anora than anyone other than her father. Unless by some miracle Fergus showed up alive – and he'd finally come to accept, reluctantly, that this wasn't likely to happen – he was now a teyrn himself. They would both need heirs, and preferably as soon as possible – before she grew too old, and his tainted blood made him incapable of bearing children. And such a match would undoubtedly find favour with the Landsmeet; the Cousland lineage was impeccably noble, and his father had been a popular and highly respected leader, seen by some as an alternative to Cailan on Maric's death.

For his own part… well, he certainly had no objections to the lady herself. Quite a step up from poor little Delilah Howe, he thought, with a rueful grin. In fact, the more unscrupulous side of him rather liked the idea of marrying – and of course bedding – his enemy's daughter. He could only imagine Loghain's reaction when the betrothal was announced; if not for Anora's sake, he'd be tempted to spare the man's life just to see the look on his face.

All of this paled, however in comparison to what a royal marriage would achieve for his family. A Cousland by the throne – _on_ the throne, even, if Anora took his name. His children as heirs to the crown…

Aedan laughed softly to himself; here he was making grand plans, when he hadn't even obtained Anora's consent yet. But considering the matter, he thought it unlikely that she would turn him down; if she was willing to marry her dead husband's bastard half-brother to secure the throne, she surely wouldn't refuse the Teyrn of Highever.

He wondered, for a second, if he ought to tell Morrigan his plans. By rights she had no further claim on him – and never had, by her own insistence – but he knew from experience that women were not always entirely rational about these things. For all she might exasperate him at times, he would not have wanted to hurt her, and still less to make an enemy of her. But the more people he told, the greater the chance of it coming to Eamon's ears; better to wait until everything was settled.

As he lay in bed that night, visions of the two women still floated before his eyes: one dark and sultry, the other delicately fair. Both highly intelligent, and in their own ways, very powerful. In a way he was glad he'd been spared the choice, for he might have had some difficulty making it.

But in truth, he knew that it never had been a choice: Anora was already part of his world, a child of power and privilege, raised to govern since the day she was born. Morrigan, wild and elusive as she was, never could be.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: A little later than I had planned, but here's the next chapter._

_I just wanted to address the issue of Aedan becoming King, since several people have mentioned it. You can ask Anora about this in the game, and her answer is a pretty unequivocal 'no'. She's already reluctant to marry for fear that a husband would take power from her, so it would be extremely foolish of her to do anything that would make this easier for him. It's not true that she needs the Warden more than he needs her: it's extremely difficult to win the Landsmeet without her support (unless you do some extra quests, which is impossible to know in advance) and she already has a backup plan if the player refuses to back her as Queen, i.e. betraying them and supporting her father. (This might not work out for her in practice, of course, but she has no way of knowing that.)_

_So no, Aedan will not become King in this fic. It _may_ happen in a future story, but I can't promise anything.  
_

* * *

Anora had slept poorly in her first night at Eamon's estate, and the second night had been little better. Her father's voice mingled with Howe's bruising grip in the dreams that flickered through her mind, causing her to wake several times with a pounding heart and clammy skin. When she finally rose in the morning, she felt drained and anxious, unwilling to face the day ahead.

She did her best to conceal the effects of her disturbed night, hiding the shadows under her eyes with carefully-applied cosmetics, but her mind could not be quieted. Today the Warden would bring her Alistair's reply to her proposal – or rather, _his_ proposal – and the knowledge lay like a leaden weight on her chest.

Her first discussion with Aedan Cousland had gone better than she'd expected. Rather to her surprise, she hadn't had to work hard to win him over; he hadn't even asked most of the difficult questions she'd been anticipating. Yet even now, she had the feeling that he could be a dangerous enemy.

He was physically impressive, and clearly intelligent, but it wasn't that; he had the same indefinable _presence_ she recognised in other powerful men. A quiet confidence in the way he moved and carried his weight, giving the impression that he could wreak utter havoc if he wished, and simply chose not to – for now. She'd seen it in her own father, in Maric Theirin and Bryce Cousland; Howe, for all his extravagant cruelty, had never had it. Nor had Cailan, she thought, with a rueful smile: he was simply too good-natured to be intimidating.

The comparison with her future husband was almost painful. She'd seen at a glance that Alistair was no leader, and the few words they'd exchanged since her arrival merely confirmed her opinion. When she'd attempted to engage him in conversation at dinner the previous evening, he'd squirmed under her gaze like a schoolboy caught out in some childish prank. If there was anything of Maric in him, it was well-hidden.

She did not want an awkward, inexperienced boy for a husband. She didn't really want a husband at all, but if it had to be so, was it too much to ask for a friend – a _partner_? One who did not resemble Cailan so closely that it was painful to look at him?

Yet the practical side of her knew that the Warden was right: politically, this was by far the best solution. Perhaps it would not be so bad, she told herself. Her marriage to Cailan had been happy enough, for all its imperfections, so perhaps she might find happiness with his brother as well. She only wished…

Erlina, braiding her mistress' hair with deft fingers, paused in her task as a small sigh escaped Anora's lips. "What are you thinking of, my lady?"

"What to send as a gift to the new king of Orzammar," she replied instantly. Erlina only smiled.

A knock on the door heralded a maid with a breakfast-tray, and Anora gladly put aside thoughts of her impending marriage. She had little appetite, but a cup of tea and some sweet pastries revived her enough to make the day ahead seem bearable.

She had almost finished her meal when someone rapped sharply on the bedroom door, three times. The knock was so similar to her father's that for one panicked moment she feared it was him, come here to forcibly remove her to the palace. She reached instinctively for the small dagger at her side, then realised that her father would scarcely bother to knock if he were bent on abducting her. It was the Warden, of course, come to give her Alistair's answer.

She stood wearily as Erlina went to answer the door, brushing crumbs from her lips and smoothing down her gown. The Warden entered moments later, nodding politely to Erlina before sweeping a deep bow to his Queen. "Rise," she said softly, and he straightened to his full height, at least a head taller than she was, forcing her to look up into his face.

Fergus Cousland, Bryce's eldest son and heir, had been essentially a younger version of his father: a jovial, warm-hearted man with a deep voice and a hearty laugh. His younger brother Aedan was a blend of both his parents, and yet not quite like either of them: taller than Fergus and powerfully built, with his father's warm smile and his mother's sharp, penetrating gaze, his dark hair a shade between Bryce's black and Eleanor's chestnut. Apart from being a little more rugged and tanned, he'd changed little from the handsome young lordling she remembered, yet somehow he seemed to have aged far more than a year. Perhaps it was simply the look in his eyes.

Those eyes were fixed on her now with brazen admiration. That he found her attractive was obvious, but Anora was so well used to admiring male gazes that she barely noticed them any longer. For her own part, as Cailan's wife, she'd become so accustomed to ignoring or suppressing any attraction to other men that it was second nature to her to stifle any flicker of desire for Aedan.

She noted that he was no longer wearing the silverite armour he'd sported the day before, having swapped it for another suit in a dull rust-red colour. Anora was no expert on armour, but it appeared to be well-made and very new, free of battle-scars and polished to a fine shine. She was just trying to discern the material when she realised that staring too hard at Aedan's armour might give him the wrong impression.

"Good morning, Warden," she said politely, motioning for him to sit down. "Will you join me for breakfast? I can have more food sent up from the kitchens if you wish."

"That's very kind of you, my lady, but I've already eaten."

"As you wish." She nodded to Erlina, who removed the breakfast tray and quietly stole out of the room, closing the door behind her. "I trust you slept well?"

From the involuntary grimace on his face she guessed that he, too, had had a disturbed night. "Reasonably. I'm afraid we Wardens suffer from nightmares quite often, especially during a Blight."

"Of darkspawn?"

"For the most part, yes." His lips thinned, and a slightly sour expression crossed his face. "Oh dear, did I just give away one of our cherished Warden secrets? How careless of me."

Anora smiled faintly. She'd never taken a great deal of interest in the Wardens – they were Cailan's obsession, not hers – but she did find their insistence on secrecy profoundly irritating. Cailan's talk of blood oaths and mysterious, often fatal joining rituals had not impressed her; it made them sound like a cult, luring young adventurers with promises of fame and glory, while concealing the grim realities of a life spent battling darkspawn. She might not share her father's paranoia over the Order, but she could certainly understand his suspicion.

"Well, I shall have to see how many more I can wheedle out of you," she began, and then broke off as a sudden realisation hit her. "Forgive me, but… is that dragonscale armour you are wearing?"

"It is, yes. I ordered it from the smith just after we arrived in Denerim." She looked at him in disbelief, and he shrugged. "He works quickly, it seems."

"Then you had it made from scratch?" He nodded. "Where in the world did you find dragon scales, of all things?"

"From a High Dragon, of course."

His expression was completely deadpan. Anora laughed hesitantly, _almost_ sure that he had to be jesting. "And you just happened to stumble across one in your travels?" she asked, her tone faintly mocking.

"Well, 'stumble across' would be an exaggeration. It was in a lair in the Frostback Mountains, being worshipped by a band of crazed cultists who believed it was Andraste reborn." Aedan shrugged. "We decided – or rather I decided – that we'd best deal with the dragon before it started attacking the local farmlands. Besides that, I thought it would be good preparation for the Archdemon."

"And what were you doing in the Frostbacks, exactly?"

"Searching for the Sacred Ashes of Andraste."

She gave an involuntary splutter of laughter, convinced now that he was teasing her. "I see," she said. "And I suppose Maferath and the Archon Hessarian showed up to help you battle the dragon?"

"Well, as a matter of fact…"

His eyes were twinkling now, and this time she couldn't contain her laughter. "You are an unconscionable liar, Warden!"

"Thank you, my lady. I'll take that as a compliment." He grinned at her, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the light-hearted young man he'd once been. It occurred to her that her own headache had melted away; perhaps it had simply been muscle tension.

"I could regale you all day with tales of my adventures," Aedan continued, "but I believe we had other business to discuss?"

"Ah, yes." Anora tried not to wince as another stab of pain shot through her temples. "Tell me, have you spoken to my lucky betrothed yet? Or will we be reduced to passing notes?"

She meant her words to sound humorous, but there was an edge to her voice that she hadn't intended. She could hardly be bothered to conceal her relief when he shook his head. "I did speak to him, but he didn't seem especially keen on the idea. I do have an alternative proposal, however."

"Oh?"

Aedan sat forward "You objected to Alistair because he would be a weak ruler," he said, and she nodded, unsure where this was going. "But what if you had a strong king beside you?"

She caught his meaning instantly, and her heart gave a sudden, unexpected leap. "Tempting," she said softly, even as her mind began to race over the implications. "You... are of Cousland blood, it's true, despite the fact that you are also a Grey Warden. It would be unprecedented, but..."

Just for a moment, a slightly ugly expression crossed Aedan's face. "Let us be clear about this, your Majesty: I _am_ a Cousland. I don't give a tinker's damn what the Grey Wardens have to say about it. My name is all I have left of my family, and I'll be _damned_ if I'll give that up." He drew a sharp, hissing breath. "Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but I have… strong feelings on this subject."

"I understand. So be it… my lord Cousland." He relaxed ever so slightly, and she smiled. "As I was about to say, a man like you could make a fine prince and consort. Is this what you are actually proposing – my hand for your support?"

"It is."

"I see." Anora kept her tone and expression as neutral as possible; she knew better than to commit herself with even a gesture or a glance. It was an intriguing idea – and an attractive one, she had to confess – but she needed more time to think, to consider the possibilities. To marry a Cousland…

Thoughts and images flashed lightning-fast through her mind, almost too many to consciously register. Aedan Cousland. Bryce's second child, son of the man who'd almost snatched Cailan's throne out from under him. Teyrn of Highever, by right if not yet by decree. Grey Warden, kingmaker, scourge of darkspawn and abominations, her father's deadly enemy…

"Very well, Warden," she said, stalling for time, and smiled when she saw his eyes light up. She raised her hand slightly, a subtle warning not to take her acceptance for granted. "I have explained why I believe I should be queen; perhaps you'd like to explain to me why you should be my consort?"

Aedan looked taken aback for a moment, and then laughed. "Revenge, eh? All right, let's start with the obvious." He drummed his fingers on the armrest. "I mentioned yesterday that royalists like Eamon are likely to oppose your bid for the throne. If you're to have any chance of winning them over, you'll need to find a husband of noble blood. I am a Cousland, and the only living heir to Highever. My family have been teyrns since the Black Age, and rulers of Highever for even longer – and my father was popular with the Bannorn, which should certainly make things easier.

"Then there's the question of heirs." His voice softened a little. "Forgive me, your Majesty. I realise this must be hard to contemplate, so soon after Cailan's death, but it is something that needs to be considered."

She looked at him in mild surprise. "You do know that I failed to give Cailan a child in five years?"

"I know. I have some thoughts about that, as it happens." Aedan paused. "Tell me… Cailan had mistresses, did he not?"

"He had his women, yes." Even now, she felt a pang of humiliation at the memory. "He was thoughtful enough to keep them discreet, but I always knew."

"And none of them ever bore him a child?"

"Not that I…" She broke off. "No, never. I would certainly have known."

Both of them were silent for a moment, thinking this over. "That aside," Aedan said eventually, "if your father's turned against you, you'll need someone to command your armies. I won't claim to be such an experienced general as he is, but I do have experience leading troops, and not just since Ostagar. I'm a better soldier than Fergus is – was – and my father trained me to lead his men in battle. I can protect you, and if it should ever come to war again, Maker forbid – " Anora nodded fervently – "I can defend Ferelden."

"I don't doubt it," she said, remembering some of the wilder tales she'd heard of the Wardens' exploits in battle. "Do you have anything else to add, my lord?"

"Well, for the sake of honesty, I suppose I ought to mention what I'm _not_ so good at." He stroked his chin for a moment, considering. "I know very little about governance, or economics, or land management. Fergus was the heir, not I, so I never made much of an effort to study those things. And I very rarely came to court, so I don't have a great deal of political experience – though I think I could learn in time."

Anora wondered if this was true modesty, or if he was simply trying to reassure her that he wouldn't pose a threat to her own power. However little time he'd spent at court, Aedan did not strike her as someone with a poor grasp of politics.

"You seem to be picking things up with remarkable speed," she said drily. "I understand that the dwarves have a new king thanks to you?"

"Harrowmont?" He shook his head ruefully. "That's a poor example, your Majesty. I'm not at all certain myself that I made the right decision there."

Anora was strongly tempted to ask him what had occurred in Orzammar, since the only reports she'd received were patchy and highly garbled, but there would be time for that later. For now, she should confine herself to the question of marriage. The Warden's arguments were good, certainly; they were the same ones she would have made herself, and she could hardly give higher praise than that. But were they strong enough when set against the risk of betrayal, of having her power stolen from her?

"Well, my lord, you make a good case," she said, after a brief pause. "But indulge me a little further, if you please. Why is it that you wish to be my consort? What do _you_ hope to gain from this marriage?"

"Apart from a beautiful wife and the ear of the throne?" Aedan grinned, and then his expression grew more serious. "I assume you're aware that certain people wanted my father to take the throne on Cailan's death?"

"I am aware, yes." Her brows lifted slightly. "Is that what this is all about? Succeeding where your father failed?"

"He didn't 'fail'," he retorted. "Some representatives from the Bannorn met with him to discuss the idea, and he turned them down flat. My father was a good man."

"Too good to be King, you mean?"

"Essentially, yes." Aedan's gaze levelled with hers. "But I am not my father. My family was all but destroyed by Howe, and unless by some miracle Fergus turns up alive, I'm the last of the Couslands. It's up to me to make them great again, and if that means taking on the burden my father rejected, so be it." His voice was thick, almost harsh. "_That_ is why I wish to marry you, your Majesty – the chance to reclaim my family's honour. Everything else is secondary."

The courtly mask had slipped, and she caught a momentary glimpse of the conflicting emotions beneath – fierce pride, defiance, and most of all determination. Anora realised with sudden surprise that it wasn't Bryce Cousland she was seeing, but Eleanor – Eleanor her old friend and confidante, who'd lived with her husband on equal terms, who'd taught her that being a wife need not mean being powerless. A friend whom she knew deep down she'd betrayed, if only by failing to bring her murderer to justice. Did she not owe something to her, to all the Couslands?

To marry Aedan, she knew, would be a path fraught with danger; a man like him might easily decide that being a mere consort was not enough. But set against this was the knowledge of what they could achieve together – things she could only have dreamed of as Cailan's wife. Anora rarely allowed herself to indulge in dreams, yet she felt her pulse quicken when she looked at Aedan – not for his strength or his good looks, but for the potential she saw in him. Together they could be great, they could make Ferelden great, and it was this that made her think this marriage a risk worth taking.

"You are not your father, I agree," she said at last. "You remind me more of your mother – and before you ask, that _is_ a compliment." At long last, she allowed herself to smile. "Very well. It is too good an opportunity to pass up. Once I am coronated, I will take your hand as my consort."

"I am honoured, my lady," he said, with a respectful dip of his head, but she hadn't missed the gleam of triumph in his eyes. "Or… may I be permitted to call you Anora?"

"You may indeed… Aedan." Speaking his name aloud sent a ripple of warmth through her. "Though perhaps we should continue to use our titles in front of your friends? I am not sure it would be a good idea to let our… arrangement come to Eamon's ears before the Landsmeet."

"No, I think that would be an exceptionally bad idea," he agreed, getting to his feet as she rose from the settee. "I was planning to follow up your lead in the Alienage this morning, so I may not see you again for the rest of the day – or possibly several days. I'll leave a few of my companions behind, just in case your father decides to come searching for you while I'm away."

"I very much doubt he will, but thank you."

He bowed, then clasped her hand in his – gently, but firmly enough that she could feel the latent strength in his grasp – and lightly brushed her fingers against his lips. "Until tomorrow, then," he said softly, "my Queen."

When Erlina entered the room a few minutes later, she found the Queen sitting at her dressing-table, an odd little smile on her face. "He has agreed to support us?" she asked, studying her mistress' face in the glass.

"More than that." Anora clasped her hands on the table in front of her. "No one else must know this, Erlina, but… Lord Cousland did not just offer an alliance. He has asked me to marry him."

"And you have agreed?"

"I have." Anora, watching her maid's expression carefully, saw a slight frown cloud her brow. "You disapprove?"

"No, indeed. He is a good match for you, I think, but…" Erlina hesitated. "Do you trust him, my lady?"

"I trust no one, my dear. _Possibly_ excepting you."

Erlina smiled, shrugged, and turned her attention to a small stain on the varnished tabletop. "He is handsome, is he not?" she said carefully.

"That has nothing to do with the case. If you think I'm foolish enough to marry a man for his looks – "

"No, indeed. But handsome young men can be… hard to control, no?" Her eyes met Anora's. "You should seduce him, if you are to marry. It might prevent him from… turning his eyes elsewhere."

Anora sighed. "That may be how things are done in Orlais, Erlina, but I am _not_ Orlesian. Besides, I would far rather have his eyes turned towards other women than towards my throne."

"_Bon_." The maid shrugged again, and then suddenly laughed. "It is a shame, I think, that you are not Orlesian. I believe you would enjoy the Great Game very much."

"Perhaps." In truth, Anora could barely think of anything beyond the Landsmeet. She wasn't afraid of the inevitable showdown with the Bannorn; what filled her with dread was the prospect of confronting her father. She loved him, whatever he had done to Ferelden and even to her, and if he survived – and she would fight tooth and nail to ensure that he did – he would never forgive her for speaking against him. Especially if she were betrothed to his greatest enemy.

She knew perfectly well that she could not count on Aedan to keep his side of the bargain, but since she was prepared at all times for betrayal, this didn't trouble her unduly. She was confident that she could sway the Landsmeet to her own cause, even if the Warden spoke against her. Even so, she didn't doubt that he could be a formidable adversary. She only hoped he had the wisdom to see what she had seen: that together, they could be a far more potent force than either was alone.

Something had changed. Her mind was sharp again; the weariness she'd felt earlier was completely gone. She might not relish the confrontation ahead, but her discussion with Aedan Cousland had given her back the will to face it – and for that, at least, she had to thank him.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: And finally we reach the Landsmeet! Once again, I've had to split this chapter in two due to length._

* * *

"Is it true?"

She took a step towards him, her beautiful eyes upraised to his. "Erlina tells me that Arl Eamon has gone ahead to call the Landsmeet. Is it true?"

Aedan didn't answer immediately. There was a new tension between them, ever since he'd returned from the Alienage with the proof of Loghain's deeds there: an unacknowledged restraint which threatened the cosy accord they'd reached only a day earlier. "It's true," he said at last. "Are you worried?"

"With my future betrothed at my side?" she said, laughing softly. "How could I worry?"

Despite himself, Aedan found himself smiling in return: in unguarded moments she could be very charming. The tension had not dissipated, however. "Have you persuaded Bann Sighard and Alfstanna to give us their support?"

"Maker willing. I imagine Bryland will vote on our side as well." Arl Bryland of South Reach was a half-blood, born to an Orlesian father and Fereldan mother, and there was little love lost between him and Loghain. "As for Wulff… I'm not so sure. He's just lost his family to the Blight, so he wasn't exactly in the mood to discuss politics."

"I had heard," she said softly. "Poor Gallagher. At least he will not need convincing of the threat the Blight poses."

Aedan nodded, trying not to think of how Wulff's voice had cracked when he spoke of his sons. The man's raw grief had not been easy to contemplate; it reminded him too strongly of his own.

"You should hurry," the Queen continued. "Father won't waste time wresting the proceedings from Eamon – he will need you. I'll meet you there. Maker watch over us all."

"Maker keep us," he agreed, and turned to leave. He hadn't gone more than a few steps, however, before he heard her voice behind him.

"Warden?"

He turned back, inclining his head slightly to acknowledge her request. "My father is a great general who has served his nation well until now." Her voice was calm, but he'd already learned to spot the signs of tension in her face: a slight furrowing of the brow, a pursing of the lips. "If there is a way for him to live, I would prefer it."

Aedan shut his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to block out the memory of men, women and children penned up in cages like livestock. She hadn't seen them, and he'd spared her the telling, but the contents of Loghain's contract with the Tevinters were plain as daylight. "_Now_ you ask me this, Anora?"

"I will not have another chance before the Landsmeet."

He shook his head, pressing a hand to his temple. "Warden… Aedan… please hear me out. Do you think I am trying to excuse what my father has done? Those were _my_ people, sold to a foreign power." Her eyes flashed dangerously. "But whatever his crimes, my father is not a Howe. Everything he has done – however heinous – stems from his love for Ferelden, not from greed or cruelty. Would you not even consider granting him mercy?"

Aedan wasn't often at a loss for words, but as he stared down at his betrothed, his Queen, he hardly knew how to answer her. He did not want to begin his marriage with the execution of his new bride's father. Even if he had, he had enough sense to realise that it would be a poor idea to admit this to her. And yet…

"Let me tell you a story," he said eventually. "I remember the first time I saw my father hold court in Highever. I was fourteen, and there was a man brought in accused of murder. He'd killed his wife in a drunken rage and turned himself in afterwards."

She nodded, her face carefully impassive. "The man was all to pieces," Aedan continued. "He begged my father to show him mercy. He swore that he'd loved his wife, that she was everything to him, that he'd never have harmed her if it weren't for the drink. I believed him, and I think my father did as well. But he still killed her."

"I think I see where you are going with this," she said quietly. "Your father hanged him, I take it?"

"He did. Not for revenge, but because he felt he had no other choice." Aedan drew a long breath. "He'd already hanged other men for lesser crimes. What kind of message would it have sent if he'd spared this one? It wasn't a first offence, either – he'd been punished before for beating his wife and he hadn't heeded the warnings. But most of all, he did it because that woman and her family deserved justice for what he did to her. To spare her murderer would have been to betray them."

"It must be death, then." Her face was studiously calm, as was her tone. "And do his previous actions count for nothing? If your murderer had given all he had to protect his wife, devoted his whole life to serving her, would that not be a point in his favour?"

This, Aedan realised, was as close as she would ever come to pleading for her father's life. He bit down hard on the underside of his lip. Maker curse the woman! She'd no right to look so frail and vulnerable, when they both knew very well that she was nothing of the sort.

"No," he said at last. "I didn't say that. For your sake – and _only_ your sake – I'll press for a lesser penalty if I can. But I will say this, Anora: if the Landsmeet decides he has to die, don't expect me to stand in their way. The most I can promise is that I won't kill him myself unless he forces me to."

"I am glad to hear it." For the first time, a note of warmth crept into her voice. "In the end it will be up to the Landsmeet to decide, I think. Thank you, Aedan."

"Don't thank me yet," he said shortly, and turned away.

...

As the motley band of companions approached the gates of the Palace District, Aedan paused to look them over one last time. He almost had to laugh at what he saw. Told simply that they needed to look their best for the Landsmeet, his friends had interpreted this as they saw fit, with results that could only be described as 'eclectic'.

Wynne wore a severe and very old-fashioned gown with a lot of lace, adding about ten years to her apparent age, while Morrigan had only agreed to swap her usual rags for some very expensive enchanted robes. Zevran wore Antivan garb of some kind, highly-coloured and garish. Leliana, meanwhile, had discovered the Orlesian silks in the marketplace; Aedan could only thank Andraste that she hadn't bought a mask as well.

Sten and Oghren appeared to have strapped on pieces of armour at random; as this was mainly silverite, the overall effect wasn't too bad. But only Alistair really looked the part, as Eamon had ensured. Dressed from head to toe in gleaming silverite, he looked every inch a king – or would have done, if it hadn't been for his nervous demeanour and constant fidgeting.

Aedan himself wore the dragonscale armour created for him by Wade. It was a superb piece of craftsmanship, and fitted him like a glove, but even he had to admit that it didn't look particularly impressive. The fashion-conscious Leliana had begged him to wear something more showy to impress the Landsmeet. "What about that suit of armour you found in the Brecilian Forest?"

"The Juggernaut set? That's ceremonial armour, Leli. It's meant for parades, not actual battles – not to mention that it's bloody _heavy_. If we end up having to fight our way out, I'd rather be wearing armour that actually allows me to move."

Leliana had sighed in frustration. "These things are _important_, Aedan. Don't you see? Loghain will be there in his shiny armour which he took from the chevalier commander at River Dane, looking like a hero. If you don't look like one yourself, how can you convince the Landsmeet to turn against him?" And now, looking at his companions, Aedan couldn't help wondering if his friend had a point.

Yet they stood in perfect formation, drilled into them by months of training, ready for anything Loghain or the darkspawn could throw at them. Who would have thought that such a disparate bunch – a drunken dwarf, a qunari, an Orlesian bard – could be forged into a miniature army? As he motioned them to continue, Aedan allowed himself a small, secret glow of pride.

"I hope Eamon doesn't expect me to give a speech," Alistair mumbled out of the corner of his mouth, as they neared the palace gates. "Maker, he probably does, doesn't he?"

Aedan suppressed a sigh. "Don't worry about it. Just let me do the talking."

He hadn't told Eamon about his arrangement with Anora. All he'd said was that he'd managed to secure her support for the Landsmeet – which was, after all, perfectly true. The look of sheer relief in the Arl's eyes caused him a twinge of guilt; he might not agree with Eamon's politics, but the man had been good to him, and he knew he would be angered and disappointed by what Aedan planned to do. But as Anora had said, it was simply too good an opportunity to pass up.

They encountered some curious glances from the guards at the gate, but no resistance. It was only when they entered the Palace itself that Aedan felt his heart sink; Ser Cauthrien, belligerent as ever, was striding towards them.

"Warden," she said coldly. "I am not surprised it has come to this. And Alistair – if you were even remotely worthy of being called Maric's son, you would already _be_ in the Landsmeet, now, wouldn't you?"

"Let us pass, Cauthrien." Aedan's voice was low, controlled, and yet utterly deadly.

She glared at him, eyes snapping with anger. "You have torn Ferelden apart to oppose the very man who ensured you were born into freedom. But do not think you will get past me to desecrate the Landsmeet itself!"

Aedan's temper flared. Who was this peasant-born woman to accuse him, a Cousland, of 'desecration'? He snapped his fingers and the entire party moved forward as one, forcing Cauthrien to take a step back or be knocked to the ground.

"Listen to me, woman," he said, slowly and distinctly. "I'll say this once, and once only. I am Aedan Cousland, Teyrn of Highever, and I have as much right to be in that room as any lord in Ferelden. Unless you actually want to die pointlessly in some futile gesture of defiance, I suggest that you _stand aside_."

Just for a moment, the young knight's defiant stance faltered. "You say that with such... such righteousness." She shook her head. "Loghain used to have that ring in his voice, but he has not sounded that way in many months now. It is not… so clear an enemy when it is your own people you fight."

"Then perhaps Loghain should stop fighting them, and concentrate on the darkspawn – as he should have done half a year ago." He moved forward again, but this time Cauthrien held her ground. "Forgive me if I lack sympathy for a man whose troubles are entirely self-inflicted. Did anyone force him to declare war on his own people?"

She shook her head in obvious frustration. "He never wanted a civil war! After Cailan died, everyone was supposed to rally, come together to fight the darkspawn without crying to Orlais for aid. But you and Eamon, you were harassing him at every side – "

"_What_?" For a moment, sheer astonishment overcame Aedan's anger. "If you truly think that, you're either blind or as mad as he is. Eamon's been in a coma for the past seven months, and the only people 'harassing' anyone are the thugs and assassins Loghain sent after us. Have you ever faced us out in the field, Cauthrien?" She didn't answer. "Well?"

"Fine!" she spat. "You're right! What would you have me say, Warden?" She threw up her hands in a gesture of despair. "He has done terrible things, I know it, but I owe him everything. I cannot betray him, do not ask me to!"

"I'm not _asking_ you to do anything. I'm _telling_ you to get out of my way." Another step forward; now his face was so close to Cauthrien's that they were almost touching. "You're an impressive fighter, Cauthrien, but you're not _that_ good. There's no possible way you can hope to beat two mages, six warriors and a wardog in single combat. You've proven your loyalty to the Regent, now stand aside – or die."

For several seconds, the matter hung in the balance; he could see the battle raging in Cauthrien's breast, anger, pride and defiance warring with self-respect and simple common sense. Her hand moved slowly towards her sword-hilt; Aedan began to reach for his – and then suddenly he saw her eyes drop, her shoulders slump in defeat.

"I... will not stop you, Warden." She stepped aside, clearing the path to the Landsmeet chamber, and knelt. "Please... show mercy. Without Loghain, there would be no Ferelden to defend."

He shot her a cold stare, then turned wordlessly away, motioning the others to follow as he swept past her into the throne room.

The large, airy chamber was filled with people, some richly dressed in silks and satins, others armoured and clearly prepared for a fight. Aedan vaguely recognised many of the faces, including several from the Gnawed Noble tavern; even the Grand Cleric of Ferelden was present in the upper gallery. Loghain was missing, however, and Anora was nowhere to be seen. Aedan felt a sudden prickle of anxiety: could his threats against her father have given her second thoughts about their agreement?

As he and his companions entered, curious eyes turned towards him and excited whispers began to circulate: _Cousland. The Cousland boy._ He swallowed hard; almost everyone in the room would have known his parents, and heard of their violent deaths. They'd also have heard that Loghain and Howe had denounced the Couslands as traitors, collaborators with Orlais. Were any of them convinced, he wondered? Were there people here who truly believed the lies about his father?

Eamon, standing on one of the balconies, had already begun to speak. "My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear!" He raised clenched fists for emphasis. "_He_ placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it?"

There were murmurs of approval and a few cheers; then, suddenly, the sound of a slow and sarcastic hand-clap. All heads turned towards Loghain Mac Tir as he entered the hall, flanked by several guards bearing the arms of Gwaren.

"A fine performance, Eamon," he said mockingly, "but no one here is taken in by it. You would attempt to put a puppet on the throne and every soul here knows it. The better question is, 'Who will pull the strings?'"

The nearby crowd was hastily falling back to clear a path for him, and Aedan could see why. This was not the weary, ill-tempered man he'd met at Eamon's estate, or even the beleaguered strategist at Ostagar; here, Loghain was in his element. Even Aedan had to grudgingly admit that the man knew how to make an entrance. Suddenly he found himself wishing he'd taken Leliana's advice and worn that ceremonial armour, heavy and cumbersome as it was.

"Ah!" Loghain continued, as the Warden's party advanced towards him. "And here we have the puppeteer. Tell us, Warden: how will the Orlesians take our nation from us? Will they deign to send their troops, or simply issue their commands through this would-be prince?" He gestured contemptuously at Alistair, then turned a glittering stare on Aedan. "What did they offer you? How much is the price of Fereldan honour now?"

Aedan was still on edge from the confrontation with Cauthrien, but he knew better than to take such an obvious bait. "I have no idea what the Orlesians are planning – if anything at all. Some of us, Loghain, have had rather more important matters to attend to." He glanced up into the right-hand gallery, where Arl Wulff was watching attentively. "Such as the darkspawn currently running rampant over half of Ferelden. Forgive me for thinking they pose a rather more immediate threat than Orlais!"

"There are enough refugees in my bannorn now to make that abundantly clear." A woman's voice – Alfstanna of Waking Sea, Aedan realised. On the opposite balcony, Wulff was nodding vigorously.

"The south is fallen, Loghain!" he growled. "Will you let darkspawn take the whole country for fear of Orlais?"

Loghain swung round to address him directly. "The Blight is indeed real, Wulff. But do we need Grey Wardens to fight it? They claim that they alone can end the Blight, yet they failed spectacularly against the darkspawn at Ostagar – "

"_We_ failed?" Aedan snapped, before he could stop himself. "It was _your_ damned strategy, Loghain. Don't blame us for your own incompetence! You were the one who betrayed the King and lost us the battle, not the Wardens!"

There were gasps from the assembled nobles, and Aedan found himself instantly regretting his loss of temper. Everyone had heard the rumours, of course, but none would have expected him to outright accuse Loghain of treason. Now he was committed to defending a claim which few would believe, and which he couldn't actually prove.

For a moment he thought he'd got away with it. From the right-hand gallery he heard the clipped, slightly accented tones of Arl Leonas Bryland: "Some of us are curious, Loghain, about precisely what happened at Ostagar."

Loghain immediately rounded on Aedan. "So one of Cailan's killers would dare speak of betrayal? You led our king to his death with your grandiose tales of griffons flying into battle."

"What 'grandiose tales'?" Aedan scoffed. "I was at your strategy meeting, as was the Warden-Commander, and griffons were not mentioned. We Wardens played our part exactly as you asked us to. It isn't our fault you turned tail and fled rather than commit your troops to battle!"

"Do continue," sneered a voice from the gallery opposite. Aedan glanced up into the face of Bann Ceorlic, one of Loghain's vassals and staunchest supporters. "The Landsmeet hungers to hear a tactical analysis of Ostagar from a spoiled child."

Several people sniggered at this, and Aedan realised his first instincts had been correct: he'd made a tactical error. "Then you'll be disappointed, Bann Ceorlic," he said, rather more calmly. "I've no analysis to offer, just a statement of fact. Teyrn Loghain asked the Wardens to light a beacon in order to signal his men to charge from cover. We scaled the signal tower, which had been overrun by darkspawn, and lit the beacon as the Teyrn had asked." He turned to Wynne. "My companion Wynne is a senior enchanter of the Circle of Magi, who was present at Ostagar. Would you care to tell the Landsmeet what happened next?"

"I certainly would." Wynne stepped forward and bowed to the Grand Cleric. "Your Grace, I swear in the name of Andraste that everything I am about to say is true. King Cailan led a charge against the darkspawn, believing the Teyrn's army would join him once the signal was given. Instead, the moment the beacon was lit – not before, not after – Loghain gave the signal to _retreat_." Her grey eyes, usually so mild, were glinting with anger. "The King had no chance without Loghain's support. He and his army were overwhelmed and cut to pieces before our very eyes!"

Loghain whirled round, and even Aedan was taken aback by the genuine rage in his face. "You goaded him into making that charge! He _believed_ the tales, Warden! He thought that your handful of men would turn the tide for him, strategy and consequences be hanged!" He jabbed a finger at Aedan. "What would you have me do? Cailan's was not the only life in my hands. Should I have sacrificed the entire army for his mistake?"

"What I would have had you do is _tell the truth_! If Cailan truly couldn't be saved, all you had to do was stand before the Landsmeet and explain why. But instead you chose to tell them a pack of lies about Grey Wardens 'betraying' the King, to disguise the fact that the only betrayal was yours!" Aedan shook his head in disgust. "Why should anyone here believe a word you say from now on?"

"And why should we believe anything _you_ say, Warden?" Ceorlic was leaning over the railing, his eyes bright with malicious glee. "Your so-called 'witness' is hardly independent. Tell me, if this tower of yours was overrun by darkspawn, and you in the thick of the fighting… how did _you_ escape the battle?"

_Damn_. Too late, Aedan realised the trap he'd fallen into. He should have seen this coming, should have thought of a plausible explanation before the Landsmeet – but now it was too late. There was nothing for it but to tell the truth.

He looked straight up at Ceorlic. "We were rescued by Flemeth, a Witch of the Wilds."

The reaction was even worse than he had feared. There were snorts of disbelief and incredulous laughter, Ceorlic's loudest of all, and he could feel the mood of the room slipping away from him. "Really, Warden." Ceorlic shook his head, looking almost disappointed. "Resorting to fairy stories now? I'd expected better than this from the famed Grey Wardens."

Aedan drew a deep breath, hoping he didn't look as unsettled as he felt. "Don't believe me, Ceorlic?" he said loudly, above the din. "Then let me give you a demonstration. Flemeth's daughter, ladies and gentlemen." He turned to his side where Morrigan stood, gestured her forward. "I suggest you all stand _well back_."

_For pity's sake, Morrigan,_ he silently pleaded, _do something impressive._ Her golden eyes lit up; she gave him a confident smile, and strode forward so that she stood directly in front of Loghain. As the Teyrn looked on, his expression skeptical, she threw back her head and flung her arms towards the ceiling.

A cloud of hazy blue light began to billow out of her, almost as if the mana was overflowing her body. Her hands glowed brightly, moved together and forward in a fluid gesture, and suddenly a miniature blizzard sprang up in the empty space before the throne. There were murmurs of shock from the assembled nobles, unaccustomed to viewing such powerful elemental magic, and several backed away as the chill wind nipped at their fingers and faces. Yet others were watching with arms folded, unimpressed.

But Morrigan hadn't finished. As Aedan watched with bated breath, a bolt of lightning sprang from her fingers, and suddenly the very air itself seemed to explode. Where the blizzard had been there was suddenly a whirlwind, a swirling cloud of dust and ice thirty feet high and half the width of the hall. Lightning arced across the ceiling of the chamber and crackled to the ground, drowning out the gasps of the crowd in a thunderous roar.

The effect was immediate. Several people screamed, and many of them dived for cover as wind and hailstones stung their faces. Even Aedan had instinctively thrown up his arms to shield his face, as much awed as frightened by this spell he'd never seen before. He'd known Morrigan was a powerful mage, but this…

The storm was raging with a ferocity that could have ripped apart buildings. Anyone unlucky enough to be caught in that cyclone would have been killed instantly, their body flung into the air and dashed to the ground like a broken doll. A handful of mages like Morrigan, Aedan realised, could wipe out an entire army. If anyone failed to believe she was Flemeth's daughter after this…

And then the wind dropped and the storm was gone, leaving only a damp carpet and scorch marks on the floor where the lighting had struck. The nobles began to emerge from cover, several of them visibly trembling. Even Loghain himself looked somewhat shaken.

Bann Ceorlic had been one of the first to run for cover, ducking behind the balcony railing and curling himself into a tight ball. Now he slowly clawed his way to his feet, grasping the railing for dear life, and pointed a trembling finger at Morrigan. "Will the Landsmeet allow this dangerous maleficar to roam free?" he quavered, in a voice several tones higher than before.

Grand Cleric Elemena, looking damp, windblown and extremely displeased, was nodding in agreement. "This woman is clearly not a mage of the Circle. She must be apprehended at once – "

"Would you care to try, old woman?" There was a vicious edge to Morrigan's voice.

Before things could get out of control, Arl Bryland came unexpectedly to Aedan's rescue. "Enough of this!" he said sharply. "It's not the task of the Landsmeet to do the Templars' job for them. Let them arrest the woman later, if they wish. What _I_ wish to hear is how Teyrn Loghain proposes to defeat the Blight."

"Hear, hear," someone else called. There were murmurs of agreement from many of the other nobles, and the Grand Cleric reluctantly subsided. Loghain and Aedan glared balefully at each other, neither willing to press the matter any further.

Round One, it seemed, was a draw. And Aedan, nursing his wounds, knew he would have to do far better than this if he wanted to win.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Apologies for the long delay, especially after ending the last chapter on a cliffhanger of sorts! I've been busy lately, and haven't had much time to just sit down and write. Have a super-long chapter to make up for it, plus a shiny new icon._

* * *

Chapter 6

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted – " Loghain glowered at Aedan – "no one disputes that the Blight is real. The only question is whether or not we believe that only Grey Wardens may end it. They failed at Ostagar, and now they ask to bring with them four legions of chevaliers. And once we open our borders to the Chevaliers, can we really expect them to simply return from whence they came?"

As Loghain was speaking, Aedan thought he saw Eamon signal to him out of the corner of his eye. He looked up quickly, and for the first time he spotted the four men standing beside the Arl. Relief flooded through him, and confidence came surging back. Loghain's obsession with Orlais, he thought wryly, had unwittingly handed him just the opportunity he needed.

"Teyrn Loghain is mistaken, my lords," he said, turning away face the Landsmeet. "While he has been laying waste the land in search of imaginary Orlesian sympathisers, I and my fellow Warden have been gathering allies using our ancient treaties. My lords and ladies, may I present Emissary Caron of the Dalish Elves?"

The emissary descended from the gallery and bowed respectfully to the assembled nobles. The others followed as Aedan called their names one by one: Fellhammer of the Dwarves, Pether of the Circle of Magi, and Lieutenant Cadrim of the Redcliffe army. When all had been presented to the Landsmeet, Aedan gestured to the crowd with a flourish.

"As you can see, ladies and gentlemen, we are not short of allies against the darkspawn. There is no need whatsoever for reinforcements from Orlais." He directed a very pointed glance at Loghain. "There never was."

To his rather grudging admiration, Loghain took this setback in his stride. "I'm glad to hear it, Warden," he said coolly. "Perhaps we could move onto another matter: your brutal murder of Teyrn Howe, and over a dozen of his guards, in his own home. Have you a glib explanation to offer for that?"

"Ah yes. Arl Howe." Aedan's smile was so brittle that he thought his face might crack. "Your right-hand man. The man who butchered my entire family, along with every man, woman and child in our castle, so that he could take our teyrnir for himself." The muttering from the crowd was starting up again. "The man whose dungeons housed a chamber of horrors that Meghren himself would have been proud of. The man who had dozens of innocent people imprisoned and tortured, merely because they found out the truth about what _you_ did at Ostagar."

"The Warden speaks truly!" Bann Sighard, who'd been visibly bursting to speak for several minutes, thumped a fist on the balcony railing. "My son was taken under cover of night. The things done to him…!" He broke off, his voice choked. "Some of them are beyond any healer's skill!"

The murmurs were growing louder and increasingly hostile. Bann Sighard was well-known and well-liked, and his grief and anger were clearly not feigned. For the first time, Loghain looked slightly rattled; he passed a hand across his temple in an unconscious gesture of strain.

"Howe was responsible for himself," he said at last. "He will answer to the Maker for any wrongs committed in this life, as must we all But whatever he may have done, he should have been brought before the seneschal. There is no justice in butchering a man in his home."

Aedan could scarcely believe his luck. Loghain could not have handed him a better opening if he'd tried. "No?" he said softly. "Then I'm rather surprised that you would send a blood mage to poison Arl Eamon."

Loghain scoffed. "I assure you, Warden, if I were going to send someone, it would be my own soldiers. I would not trust to the discretion of an apostate."

"Indeed?" called Bann Alfstanna, from the gallery. "My brother tells a very different tale. He says you snatched a blood mage from the Chantry's justice. Coincidence?"

Many people glanced towards the Grand Cleric, who was looking very grim. "Do not think the Chantry will overlook this, Teyrn Loghain," she said sharply. "Interference in a templar's sacred duties is an offence against the Maker."

Loghain was looking increasingly hunted, clearly sensing that the mood had turned against him. Sensing victory, Aedan pressed his advantage. "But that is not even the greatest of Teyrn Loghain's crimes. Eamon," – he craned his head towards the balcony – "perhaps you'd like to show the Landsmeet what was found when we investigated the disturbances in the Alienage?"

With a terse nod, Eamon withdrew a sheaf of papers from under his cloak and handed them to Bann Sighard. The bann read them through, frowning deeply, and then let out a sudden roar of outrage. "What's this? There is no slavery in Ferelden! Explain yourself, Loghain!"

"_Slavery_?" someone cried, and the room erupted in furious babble. Loghain, his face even paler than usual, raised a hand in an attempt to call for silence. When this didn't work, he raised his voice, calling loudly enough for the entire room to hear him.

"There is no saving the Alienage," he declared. "Damage from the riots has yet to be repaired; there are bodies still rotting in their homes. It is not a place I would send my worst enemy. There is no chance of holding it if the Blight comes here." His gaze shifted to Aedan. "Despite what you may think, Warden, I have done my duty. Whatever my regrets may be for the elves, I have done what was needed for the good of Ferelden."

Aedan let out a bark of incredulous laughter. "Very well, Loghain. I fail to see how a district surrounded by a _moat_ and a _thirty-foot wall_ is any less defensible than the others – but then, I'm not the 'master strategist'." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "We'll also ignore the fact that every last sovereign from this 'deal' was going to fight _your_ opponents, not the Blight. Answer me just one question: would you have begun selling human citizens, once you ran out of elves? Or do elves not count amongst the Fereldens you're trying to 'protect'?"

A muscle clenched in Loghain's jaw. "This is _war_," he said bluntly. "Did you believe it would be like the old tales: knights with pennants flying over battlefields, where all outcomes are decided simply and with honour? War is cruel. Every soul who fought alongside Maric knows this. And in it, there are no such things as innocents, only the living and the dead, and the degrees of guilt both bear." He broke off, drawing a long breath. "Sacrifices were made. If they were too great, the Maker will judge me for it."

"'Sacrifices were made?' _Sacrifices were made_?!" Aedan's façade of courtliness vanished in sudden, genuine outrage. "How _dare_ you talk about sacrifice, Loghain? You've destroyed half the country through your incompetence and your demented paranoia, and you have the _gall_ to claim you made 'sacrifices'?"

He took a single step towards Loghain, almost shaking with fury. Rage and bitterness long suppressed was pouring out of him – for his family, his friends, everyone who'd suffered due to this man's ambition. "Literally everyone _except_ you has lost something in this insane war. Everyone else has been sacrificed by you, on your behalf, to get _you_ into power and to keep you there. The king and his entire army, who died in battle because you broke your oath. The people of Ferelden, who've seen their lands ravaged by darkspawn on one hand and your soldiers on the other. What was _your_ sacrifice, Loghain?"

Loghain hadn't moved, but his face was chalk-white; it took him a few seconds to compose himself enough to speak. "Cailan was my sacrifice," he said at last. "Whatever you may think of me, Warden, he was Maric's son. My _king_. No one regrets his loss more than I do."

Aedan let out a harsh laugh. "Really? I hope you can convince Maric of that when you see him next."

"Maker help me, Warden, _so do I_."

His voice was a hoarse rasp, almost a whisper. As they faced each other in silence, Aedan caught a fleeting glimpse of long-buried emotion – doubt, regret, even sheer exhaustion. His own rage began to drain away, and he folded his arms, watching silently as Loghain searched for words to answer him.

"Whatever I have done," he said, "I will answer for later. At the moment, however, I wish to know what this Warden has done with my daughter."

"Aside from protecting her from you, you mean?"

Loghain's expression darkened. "You took my daughter – our _queen_ – by force, killing her guards in the process! What arts have you employed to keep her? Does she even still live?"

"She does, Loghain, and she – "

"I believe," said a calm, clear voice, "I can speak for myself."

There were gasps as Anora entered the room, followed closely by Erlina and several of the Royal Guards. Like her father, she knew exactly how to make an entrance for maximum dramatic effect. She strode up to the dais in front of the throne and turned to face the crowd, never taking her eyes off her father.

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me!" Her voice rang out, clear and penetrating, above the general hubbub. "My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the hero of River Dane. This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn!"

More gasps. "This man seized Cailan's throne before his body was cold and locked me away so I could not reveal his treachery. I would have already been killed – " she turned, looked directly at Aedan – "if not for this Grey Warden."

Loghain looked thunderstruck. Aedan was scarcely less so, if truth be told. He'd certainly hoped that Anora would keep her word and denounce her father, but he'd expected her words to be reluctant, half-hearted. Yet there was not a trace of doubt or hesitation in her voice; she spoke as if condemning a traitor to the scaffold. Could this be the same woman who had pleaded with him for Loghain's life only a few hours ago?

Until this moment, he hadn't realised quite how cold-bloodedly ruthless his future bride really was. He was more than a little impressed, and at the same time slightly horrified. Would she have done the same to him, under different circumstances? Maker, what had he got himself into?

He dismissed the thought, realising that Anora was expecting him to back her up. "The queen speaks the truth," he stated coolly. "She was held captive by Arl Howe at his estate, with her father's knowledge. Had she not approached us with a desperate plea for aid, she would still be there – or have been killed so that her death could be blamed on the Wardens."

The initial shock had faded from Loghain's face, leaving only a look of grim resignation. He glanced momentarily at Aedan, his expression unreadable, and then back at his daughter.

"So the Warden's influence has poisoned even your mind, Anora?" he said softly. "I wanted to protect you from this."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Loghain had already turned away, addressing his next words to the Landsmeet. "My lords and ladies!" he boomed. "Our land has been threatened before. It's been invaded, and lost, and won times beyond counting. We Fereldans have proven that we will never truly be conquered, so long as we are united – we must not let ourselves be divided now. Stand with me, and we shall defeat even the Blight itself!"

It was a fine speech, and yet the words lacked conviction. The fire was gone from Loghain's eyes; his daughter's betrayal seemed to have sapped the energy from him, leaving him smaller, sadder. He was going through the motions, Aedan realised, more out of a refusal to admit defeat than from any real expectation of winning the debate.

The other nobles must have sensed it as well, or else they had been convinced by Aedan's earlier arguments. Either way, the response was unequivocal. Arl Bryland was the first to respond, banging his fist on the railing. "South Reach stands with the Grey Wardens!"

Bann Alfstanna stepped forward eagerly. "Waking Sea stands with the Grey Warden!"

"Dragon's Peak supports the Warden!"

Arl Wulff shook his shaggy head, looking somewhat disgusted with the whole affair. "The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens," he said gruffly. "Maker help us."

"I stand by Loghain! We've no hope of victory otherwise." That was Ceorlic, of course. Aedan's lip curled sardonically; well, you couldn't win them all.

The rest of the votes followed much the same pattern. Many of Loghain's liegemen supported him, either out of fear or simple loyalty – they were, after all, his sworn vassals. But the balance of the vote was definitely on the Wardens' side.

When the last of the banns cast his vote – "I stand with the Warden! The Blight is coming, we need the Grey Wardens!" – the entire room erupted in cheers. Alistair's shoulders slumped with relief and he turned to Aedan, a weak grin on his face. Aedan returned the smile, trying to conceal his own relief, and turned back to Loghain.

"The Landsmeet is against you, Loghain. Step down gracefully – " he began, and stopped. There was nothing of defeat or despair in Loghain's expression; the look in his eyes was the wild, glazed stare of an enraged mabari.

"_Traitors!_" The word emerged as a feral snarl. "Which of you stood against the Orlesian emperor when his troops flattened your fields and raped your wives?" Almost spitting with rage, he rounded on Eamon. "You fought with us once, Eamon! You cared about this land once – before you got too old and fat and content to even see what you risk."

Eamon's only response was a look of cold contempt. Grinding his teeth, Loghain swung round to face his fellow nobles. "None of you deserve a say in what happens here! None of you have spilled blood for this land the way I have! How DARE you judge me!"

The Teyrn's voice was hoarse with rage, his eyes bloodshot. At his last words, the chamber doors burst open and armed men flooded into the room, all bearing the heraldry of Gwaren on their shields. Aedan's breath caught. Was that crazed fool actually going to try to take the entire Landsmeet by force?

"Father, for pity's sake _stand down_." Anora's face was taut. "Can't you see you're just making things worse for yourself? Surely you don't intend to fight everyone in the palace?"

Loghain spun round to face his daughter, his expression murderous. Anora's guards instantly closed around her, and several people reached for their swords. Without even thinking, Aedan strode forward and grasped Loghain's arm, yanking the man round to face him.

"Listen to her, Loghain," he said through gritted teeth. "Hasn't there been _enough_ Ferelden blood spilled in this pointless war? If you've a shred of honour left, call off your men and we'll settle this – one to one. Don't throw their lives away in a fight you can't hope to win."

Loghain stood, rigid, his eyes riveted on the hand locked around his arm. The whole room seemed to hold its breath as each nerve-racking second slid by. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally nodded.

"Then let us end this," he said at last, and sighed. "I suppose we both knew it would come to this. When we first met at Ostagar, I would never have thought so. But Ostagar seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else."

He shook his head, a faraway expression on his face; then his gaze focussed once more on Aedan. "A man is made by the quality of his enemies. Maric told me that once. I wonder if it's more a compliment to you or me." Aedan regarded him levelly, saying nothing. "Enough," Loghain continued. "Let the Landsmeet declare the terms of the duel."

After conferring with the others for a few moments, it was Bann Alfstanna who stepped forward. "It shall be fought according to tradition," she declared, "a test of arms in single combat until one party yields. And we who are assembled will abide by the outcome."

Loghain nodded slowly, then turned to Aedan. "Will you face me yourself, or have you a champion?"

Aedan was tempted to choose one of his mage companions as a champion; either of them could have taken Loghain down in seconds. But there was more resting on this fight than Loghain's defeat, and everyone knew it. "I'll fight you myself."

Again the Teyrn nodded. "It is you or me the men will follow," he said, "so let us fight for it. Prepare yourself."

And so the die was cast. Remembering his promise to the Queen, Aedan turned towards her and bowed slightly.

"My lady." He tried to convey an apology in his tone and expression; he'd tried his hardest, after all. She gave him a tiny nod in response, though her eyes were filled with sadness; there was little doubt that either her father or her betrothed was about to die.

He turned to face Loghain, and drew his sword, the blade he'd found and restored in the Deep Roads. It wasn't a flashy or gaudy weapon, just plain, unadorned dragonbone, but the lightning that crackled over the blade spoke of its deadly power. The onlookers were backing away hastily, clearing a space for the two of them as they began to circle each other like hungry wolves. This would be no gentlemen's duel to first blood, no play-fight like the tourneys; this was a battle to the death, and they both knew it.

He would not make the mistake of underestimating Loghain. The man might be old enough to be his father, but no one who saw the Teyrn of Gwaren could doubt that he was still a formidable warrior. On his side were his immense size and strength, and a lifetime's experience of mowing down foes in battle. On Aedan's were youth and energy, the almost supernatural stamina granted to him by the Taint… and a few other tricks up his sleeve.

It was Loghain who made the first move, launching himself at the younger man with a roar. But Aedan was ready for him, and as he raised his shield to defend against the blow, his right hand lit up in a blaze of light. The Grand Cleric let out a squeak of outrage, but everyone else watched in stunned silence, their eyes glued to the spectacle before them as a bolt of white light descended on Loghain.

The Teyrn gasped and stumbled, temporarily blinded, and Aedan pounced. But Loghain wasn't to be beaten so easily; with an instinct honed by decades of swordsmanship, he swung up his sword to deflect the blow. The blades clashed and scraped together with jarring force, and now Loghain had recovered his balance, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set in fierce determination.

Again and again the blades clashed together, the shields lashed out. Neither man wore a helmet, and both knew that to strike the other in the face or neck was their best chance of ending the battle. They were biding their time, each of them waiting for the other to make a mistake.

And it was Aedan who made the first slip. A moment's inattention allowed Loghain to slip his blade past the young Warden's guard, striking one of the only weak points in his armour: the relatively unprotected spot beneath his left arm. Aedan's chainmail armour prevented the sword from digging too deep, but the tip of the blade bit into his flesh, and he winced in pain. Then Loghain's shield was slamming into him, striking him squarely in the chest with a force that knocked him to the ground.

There were anguished moans from the watching crowd, and a wail from the direction of Aedan's companions. Aedan had no time even to think; he kicked out at the sword-arm bearing down on him and then lashed out with another Holy Smite, knowing he wouldn't have the strength to use it again. It didn't hinder Loghain for more than a second, but it was a second that gave Aedan time to roll away and scramble to his feet, gasping for breath.

Loghain paused for a second, just out of sword's reach, a grim amusement in his eyes. "If it weren't for your magic tricks," he growled, "you'd have been done for, boy."

"Perhaps." Aedan's breath came in rasps. "But in twenty years' time, old man? I'll be better than you are now."

"You won't live that long." And Loghain launched himself at Aedan without even a second's grace.

The room was silent now, but for the harsh clang of metal against metal. Aedan's arms ached; he could feel blood trickling down his side, and every breath made his bruised ribs twinge. But Loghain was starting to flag; sweat was trickling down his face, and his breathing was growing increasingly harsh. Sooner or later, inevitably, his strength would give out.

Aedan redoubled his efforts, concentrating all the force in his body into each merciless strike. He would not tire as easily as Loghain; the darkspawn taint coursing through his blood gave him reserves of strength his opponent couldn't hope to match. He was slowly overpowering the older man, driving him backwards, and _then_ – there it was, the opening he'd been waiting for. Their shields met too close to Loghain's body, and Aedan drove his sharply upwards, catching Loghain a vicious blow across the face.

Knocked off balance, the Teyrn cried out and stumbled backwards, sinking to his knees. Aedan instantly raised his sword, preparing to strike the killing blow. But Loghain didn't raise his own blade to defend himself; instead he dropped his shield and flung up his hand in a gesture of surrender. "Enough!"

Aedan approached him warily, placing the tip of his sword against the man's throat. He was half convinced that this was a feint, but the Teyrn made no move to ward him off.

"I underestimated you, Warden," he said hoarsely. "I thought you were like Cailan, a child wanting to play at war. I was wrong – there's a strength in you that I have not seen anywhere since Maric died." Laying his sword carefully on the ground beside him, he met Aedan's gaze for a brief moment and then dipped his head. "I yield."

Blood was running from his nose and from a split lip; an ugly bruise was spreading over his face where Aedan's shield had struck with brutal force. Aedan looked at the man kneeling before him in surrender, and saw a field of dead at Ostagar, bodies dragged off to be food – or worse – for the darkspawn. He saw a crowd of terrified villagers huddled in the Chantry at Redcliffe, and Circle mages shivering amongst the wreckage of the only home they knew. He saw an old man lying unconscious on a bed, fighting for life with each laboured breath.

Clenching his teeth to the point of pain, he slowly withdrew the blade from Loghain's throat and sheathed his sword. "I accept your surrender."

"I didn't just hear you say that!" Alistair's voice rang with indignation. "You're going to let him live? After everything he's done?! _Kill him_, already!"

"Wait! There is another option!"

Both of them looked round to see Riordan pushing his way through the crowd. Aedan didn't remember seeing the other Warden there before; where had he been? "The Teyrn is a warrior and general of renown. Let him be of use. Let him go through the Joining."

"The _Joining_? Have you lost your mind, Riordan?"

"There are _three_ of us in all of Ferelden. And there are... compelling reasons to have as many Wardens on hand as possible to deal with the archdemon." He looked earnestly from Aedan to Alistair. "There are too few of us. It's not a matter of what we _like_; it's a matter of what we must do. Our duty is to slay the archdemon."

Anora was nodding eagerly. "The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not?" she said quickly, clutching at the chance to save her father. "If he survives, you gain a general; if not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

Aedan was about to reply, but Alistair interrupted him. "Absolutely not!" he snarled. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed! He hunted us down like animals – he _tortured you_! How can we simply forget that?"

Riordan shrugged. "We aren't judges. Kinslayers, blood mages, traitors, rebels, carta thugs, common bandits – anyone with the skill and the mettle to take up the sword against the darkspawn is welcome among us."

"Joining the Wardens is an honour, not a punishment!" Alistair was yelling now, too angry to care what anyone else thought. "Name him a Warden and you cheapen us all! I will _not_ stand next to him as a brother – I won't!"

The nobles around him were exchanging glances that spoke louder than words. Up in the gallery, Eamon looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor with mortification. At that moment, Aedan understood exactly how he felt. He could only be grateful for small mercies; at least, after that little outburst, no one could seriously entertain the idea of making Alistair king.

"He's being childish," Anora was saying. "How many generals do you think Ferelden has? We can't afford to lose any of them to Alistair's tantrums if we want to survive the Blight!"

"Oh, but we could afford to lose a king? And the entire army that was abandoned at Ostagar? Whose tantrums cost us all that, I wonder?"

"ENOUGH!" An abrupt silence fell across the room at the sound of Aedan's voice. "He's not going to be a Warden, Alistair, so the question doesn't arise. And with all due respect, Riordan, I'm astonished you'd even consider the idea. If we need more Wardens, why not recruit one of my companions? Are you seriously suggesting we trust the man who's been trying to _kill us_ for months on end?"

"What does loyalty matter?" Riordan said softly. "We are what we are. The Joining binds us to the darkspawn. You know this. If you were to forswear your oath and flee today, you'd find yourself in the Deep Roads or the Blight-lands, given time."

Aedan gritted his teeth in frustration. "It's not a question of loyalty! The man is _not sane_, Riordan! Did you miss the part where he tried to arrest the entire Landsmeet?" He shook his head. "If you think I'm going to place my friends' lives in the hands of a delusional traitor, who's spent the past eight months ripping this country apart while blaming everyone but himself for his own crimes, you must have taken leave of your senses. He is _not_ going to go through the Joining, and that decision is _final_."

"_Good._" Alistair had been nodding approvingly throughout Aedan's speech. "So. _Now_ do we get to kill him?"

Somehow Aedan managed to keep a grip on his temper. "There are options other than 'instant execution' or 'the Joining', Alistair. Let him be imprisoned, given a proper trial – "

A hollow laugh escaped Loghain's lips. "And shut up in a dungeon forever, I suppose? Is that your idea of mercy, Warden?"

Aedan turned a withering glance towards him. "No, as it happens," he said coldly. "Mercy has nothing to do with it. It's your daughter's feelings I'm concerned about, not yours."

Loghain's eyes flew to Anora's face, then back to Aedan's. His gaze flickered from one to the other in confusion, and then a sudden understanding began to dawn in his face. "Ah," he said, too softly for anyone but Aedan to hear him.

But Alistair was still bristling with rage, too angry to hear what his friend was saying. "And you think _she_ would allow that?" He waved a hand in Anora's direction. "This _was_ his trial! He's guilty as sin, and everyone here knows it!" The young man shook his head, his eyes filled with bewilderment and frustration. "You had your revenge when you killed Howe. Why won't you let me have mine?"

"Howe gave me no other choice. He attacked us without warning, he refused to surrender – "

"Oh, and you would totally have spared him otherwise, I suppose!" Alistair rolled his eyes. "Leliana told me what you said to Howe when you killed him. She's writing a bloody _song_ about it! Well, Loghain killed _my_ friends, and I'm not going to let him get away with it. He deserves justice, and if you won't give it to him, I will!"

"Then DO IT, you pathetic man-child!" Aedan's patience was finally at an end. "Make your own bloody decisions for once in your wretched life! If you're so utterly determined to butcher a defeated enemy in cold blood, then _Do. It. Yourself_. I'll have no part in it."

He honestly hadn't expected Alistair to go through with it. He'd expected the man to back down, as he always did, when faced with the prospect of actually having to take responsibility upon himself. But there was a look on Alistair's face that he'd never seen before: a cold, lethal anger that made it look suddenly much older and much harder.

"I will," he said tersely, and drew his sword. "I owe that to Duncan."

Anora let out a cry. "You can't do this! My father may have been wrong, but he is still a hero to the people."

Loghain had been watching the Wardens' argument in silence, an odd expression on his face: a mixture of resignation and something close to amusement. Now, though, he turned to his daughter, his eyes filled with love. "Anora, hush," he said gently. "It's over."

"Stop treating me like a child!" For the first time, Aedan could hear a tremor in the Queen's voice. "This is serious."

"Daughters never grow up, Anora." He smiled faintly. "They remain six years old with pigtails and skinned knees forever."

"Father…!"

"Just make it quick, Warden." Though Alistair was hovering nearby with his sword, Loghain's words were addressed to Aedan. "I can face the Maker, knowing that Ferelden is in your hands."

His eyes flickered towards his daughter as he spoke, and Aedan knew he'd understood. "You heard the man, Alistair," he said shortly.

Alistair nodded, stony-faced, and stepped forward. The Teyrn kept his head raised and his eyes fixed on Aedan's, defiant to the last. As the onlookers began to back away and cover their faces, unable to watch, the young Warden raised his sword with both hands and swung it with brutal force at Loghain's neck.

The blow struck home, and Loghain Mac Tir's body slumped to the ground. Blood spurted from the wound, splashing Anora's face and gown even as she threw up her hands to shield herself. She let out a hoarse cry and ran to her father's side, sinking to her knees beside him.

Aedan had seen dozens of men killed since the start of the Blight, but the sheer ugliness of this death struck like a lance at something deep inside him. He'd witnessed this grim tableau before – the spreading pool of blood, the kneeling figure – only the grieving woman had been a wife, not a daughter, her hair grey instead of gold. A wave of nausea overcame him, and he had to turn his face away as he felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes. At that moment he knew beyond doubt that he'd made the wrong decision: that the death of his bride's father would haunt him all his life, inextricably linked in his mind with the death of his own.

Anora had sunk her hands into her father's hair, her shoulders shaking in silent agony. Erlina had hurried over to her and was trying to prise her away from the body, while dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. Alistair's face, by contrast, showed only grim satisfaction. He gave his bloodied sword a cursory wipe before sliding it back into its sheath, then stood back, arms folded.

The long, uncomfortable silence that followed was broken by Eamon clearing his throat. "So it is decided," he said firmly. "Alistair will take his father's throne."

"Wait, what? No!" The sudden change in Alistair's expression was almost ludicrous. "When did this get decided? Nobody's decided that, have they?" He threw Aedan a glance of desperation, transformed from steely-eyed avenger back into awkward boy, pleading as always for his friend to come to his rescue.

It took every ounce of Aedan's self-control not to punch him in the face. He was still struggling to control his temper when Anora spoke up, her tone making it clear that nothing, not even her father's death, would let her allow Eamon to steal her throne out from under her.

"He refuses the throne," she said sharply. "Everyone here has heard him. I think it's clear, then, that he abdicates in favour of me."

"I hardly think you're the appropriate person to mediate this, Anora," Eamon admonished her. He turned to Aedan. "Warden, will you help us?"

Aedan managed to school his face into a neutral expression. "I will, indeed."

"Then, as the arbiter of this dispute, what is your decision? Who will lead Ferelden?"

Aedan glanced at the trio of faces opposite him, taking in each of their expressions: Eamon's quietly confident, Alistair's nervous, Anora's stern and defiant. It was now, or never. He had no idea whether Anora would be willing to proceed with their agreement, after what had just happened, but no matter: he had come too far to lose his nerve at the last minute.

"Alistair is the son of Maric," he began, "but as you can all clearly see, he has never wished to be king. He was deliberately brought up far from court, and raised as a Templar in the Chantry, hardly a suitable upbringing for a future leader of Ferelden. Therefore, I propose an alternative." Eamon was frowning deeply, but Aedan ignored him. "Queen Anora will take the throne… and I shall rule at her side."

Utter, stupefied silence. The sea of faces around him ran the gamut of expressions from shock to incredulity. Eamon's face was rapidly turning an unhealthy beetroot colour; he opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

"I may not be a Theirin," Aedan continued, "but I am a Cousland. Our bloodline is as ancient and as noble as Calenhad's, and my father was Teyrn of Highever, second only to the King himself. I propose to unite that line to the throne of Ferelden, as Queen Anora's husband… if she will have me." His gaze locked with hers, and he stretched out his hand towards her.

Just for a moment, she hesitated, and Aedan felt a sudden prickle of fear. Was she about to turn him down, humiliate him in front of the Landsmeet? But though it felt like an age to him, her hesitation lasted only a second; with a barely perceptible nod, she slid her hand, still stained with her father's blood, into his.

"My husband." Anora's face was still streaked with tears, her eyes puffy and red, but her voice when she spoke was as clear and steady as ever. "The king-consort, the general of my armies, and the hero who will save Ferelden from this Blight. So let it be."

The silence that followed was stifling. All around him, Aedan could see expressions of shock – whether approving or not, he could hardly tell. And then, just as the tension seemed to grow unbearable, someone – possibly Arl Bryland, he could never quite remember afterwards – stepped out from amongst the throng and knelt.

Others followed, sinking to their knees and bowing their heads in submission. The effect was like a wave rippling across the chamber, each bann following the example of his or her neighbours. Eamon was one of the last to kneel, but eventually he too was forced to acquiesce, keeping his eyes deliberately lowered so as not to meet Aedan's.

Aedan let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. He'd done it. He'd defeated Loghain, united the country, and secured his family's place by the throne and in the history of Ferelden. His knees were weak, his body still jarred and bruised from the duel with Loghain, but he held himself proud and erect like the King he was now destined to be – assuming, of course, that he survived the battle with the archdemon.

Anora was speaking again, demanding that Alistair surrender his claim to the throne, and talking of the coming battle against the darkspawn. Aedan barely heard her. He no longer had any doubts about the decision he'd made; any woman who could act as Anora did, coolly political even in her grief over her father, would certainly make a Queen to be reckoned with. But all he could think of was what it would mean for him, for his family – and what kind of reckoning he'd face when he returned to Eamon's estate.

It wasn't until they were leaving the chamber that he was rudely jerked back into reality. As the heavy double-doors swung open, he found Ser Cauthrien standing on the threshold; evidently she'd been straining to hear what was going on inside the room. Her gaze lingered briefly on Aedan and Anora, filled with confusion – and then suddenly jerked past them to a spot in the middle of the chamber, where Loghain's crumpled body still lay in a pool of blood. Her mouth fell open, and she glanced up at Aedan in stark horror, a world of silent accusation in her eyes.

Aedan drew a long breath, steadying his nerves. He could not ignore that look, no matter how little he liked Cauthrien. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly, and swept past her before she could gather her wits to reply, the rest of his companions following in his wake.

... ...

From 'The Tale of Aedan the Warden':

_There, before the assembled nobles of the Landsmeet, Aedan bested the traitor Loghain in single combat; whereupon he was slain by Alistair, son of Maric the Saviour, and half-brother to King Cailan. The gentle Queen wept at her father's death, for she loved him still despite his cruel betrayal. But Aedan took her hand in his, and declared to all who were gathered there that he and she were to wed, and rule Ferelden together._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: _Finally _finished this. I ended up with a super doublepluslong chapter, so I decided to split it up: now you get two for the price of one. Quite a lot of talking in both, I'm afraid..._

* * *

Chapter 7

"Well, thank the Stone that's over with," Oghren said fervently, speaking for just about everyone in the party. "I thought our deshyrs could jaw hard enough to wake the ancestors, but they ain't a patch on your people. Any more talking and I'd have passed out just from the boredom."

Wynne glanced back at him over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "You have a curious definition of boredom, Oghren!"

"Hey, gimme a good honest brawl any day. Least we got to see _some_ fighting, I guess." He chuckled. "You sure showed that nug-humper Loghain what Wardens are made hof."

"I suppose I did," Aedan agreed, listening with only half an ear. Alfric was whining and snuffling at his heels, trying to get his attention; he reached down absently to pet him, but his mind was still back in the Landsmeet chamber, still seeing the blood pooling on the floor and the nobles of Ferelden kneeling at his feet.

The rest of the journey back to Eamon's estate was conducted largely in silence. Aedan was lost in thought, and most of the others had reasons of their own for not wishing to speak. It would take some time for the shock of the Landsmeet to wear off.

It took the party quite some time to walk back to the estate. When they arrived, they discovered that Eamon – who'd travelled by carriage, and arrived home considerably earlier – had already packed his bags and left for Redcliffe, taking most of his soldiers with him. Aedan overheard the servants gossiping about his hasty departure, wondering what had prompted him to leave so abruptly – "without taking leave of his guests, even! That's not like the Arl!" For his own part, he couldn't help feeling some relief at being spared a confrontation with Eamon, though they'd inevitably meet again in Redcliffe.

He didn't even remember his wound until he began to strip off his armour and clothing, and discovered that his shirt was soaked in blood all down his left side. The bleeding had largely stopped, and he was still too fired up with battle-lust to feel much pain, but Loghain's blade had left an ugly gash in the skin that looked far worse than it felt. Wynne gasped in dismay when she saw it, and rushed to gather healing supplies. "Maker's mercy, child! Why didn't you tell me you were wounded?"

"I had forgotten," he answered honestly. She rolled her eyes and set to work, cleaning the wound and sealing the skin with magic, and applying a poultice to the scab that remained. That done, she checked his ribs carefully for fractures before healing the bruises.

"You really ought to have let one of us fight him," she said, in between tuts and maternal clucking. "My heart almost stopped when he managed to knock you to the ground. Morrigan or I would have taken Teyrn Loghain down far more quickly, and without the need for bloodshed."

Morrigan, who never missed an opportunity to carp at Wynne, laughed scornfully. "Do you understand nothing, old woman? 'Twas a test of strength, like alpha wolves fighting for control of a pack. 'Twould be pointless for us to interfere."

But Wynne, for once, refused to rise to the bait. "Thank you, dear," she said mildly. "I'm well aware that men will insist on these little rituals… especially where a woman is concerned. Now – " she turned to Aedan – "how does it feel when I do _this_?"

She prodded again at a sore area of his ribs, and he winced in pain. When he looked up again and his eyes had ceased to water, Morrigan had disappeared.

He would have gone in search of her, but just as Wynne was almost finished, the door opened and Leliana entered the room. "There's a messenger from the palace in the hallway," she announced. "The Queen will be arriving here in just a few minutes."

Aedan hastened to get himself cleaned up and dressed, wiping off the blood and sweat and putting on the new suit of clothes he'd managed to obtain before the Landsmeet. He hoped he looked at least vaguely presentable, but he had more important things on his mind than sartorial concerns. He hadn't spoken to Anora since the close of the Landsmeet; would she be angry at what he had done? Grieving? Vengeful? He was quite willing to defend his actions if he had to, but that was not how he wanted to begin his marriage.

By the time the Queen arrived at the estate, all the companions excepting Alistair and Morrigan were gathered in the hallway to greet her. Though slightly paler than usual, she looked as cool and collected as always: every speck of blood carefully scrubbed off, and not a hair out of place. Aedan ought to have been relieved, but something about her carefully blank expression was more disturbing than open grief or anger would have been. He was discomforted to realise he still found her powerfully attractive; more so than ever, in fact.

She greeted them with formal politeness, then drew Aedan aside into the dining room so that she could speak to him in private. For a moment they just looked at each other, without speaking, a thick pall of awkwardness hanging over them like a canopy.

"So it's done," she said at last. "My father is dead." She shook her head, her eyes filled with sadness. "I never thought he would go so far. I never thought it would end like it did. Such a _waste_ –"

She broke off, and Aedan cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I wish it could have been otherwise."

"It could have been." She heaved a sigh. "But what is done is done. My father had no illusions about the consequences of his actions, and neither do I."

Her lashes swept downwards for a brief moment, then she raised her eyes once again to Aedan's face. "You kept your end of the deal; I will keep mine. The engagement will be announced at my coronation… provided you are still interested."

"I am very much interested." He narrowed his eyes, studying her expression. "Are you?"

"Yes, indeed. I simply wish to ensure your ambitions haven't… changed."

Aedan regarded her steadily. Without taking his eyes from hers, he held out his hand to her as he had in the Landsmeet. When she tentatively placed her hand into his, he closed his larger, rougher fingers around hers and pressed it to his lips, feeling the slight tremor as the heat of his mouth brushed her skin. Maker, she was beautiful.

Desire scorched through him, sudden and painfully intense. Had she been any other woman he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her, proven his intent without the need for words. But she was his Queen, and after what had just occurred, he was in no position to offer her comfort.

"I can think of no greater honour than to be your husband, your Majesty," he said, his voice rough.

"Thank you." Her expression softened ever so slightly. "And I must thank you for keeping your word to me in the Landsmeet. After… what happened, there was a moment when I was afraid you might not."

"I thought the same about you," he confessed. Neither of them spoke for a second. "Is our whole marriage going to be like this, Anora? Watching each other constantly, like players over a chessboard?"

She shrugged. "That depends. If you don't give me reason to distrust you, you have nothing to fear from me in return."

"Aren't you the one who thinks shared goals are better than trust?" he asked, smiling.

She returned the smile, acknowledging a hit. "Of course… as long as we can be certain we share the same goals."

Another brief silence followed. "Arl Eamon has left for Redcliffe," Anora continued, "and tells me that our armies have almost fully gathered there. I will be heading there, myself."

"What, immediately?"

"No, not until tomorrow. There are arrangements I wish to make first… my father's funeral, for example."

"Then may I see you later today? There are some things I'd like to talk over with you, if you're willing."

"Indeed. We have quite a lot to discuss, do we not?" She nodded slowly. "Very well: come to the Palace after dinner, and I will receive you there. I'll tell the guards to expect you."

Aedan hesitated. "One more thing… I realise this is probably a stupid question, but do you want me to attend your father's funeral?"

She looked mildly taken aback, but recovered herself quickly. "It's not a stupid question. I understand why you made the offer, and I thank you, but… no, I think not. My father died in disgrace, and his funeral will be small and private. I would rather keep it to people who knew him, and… can honour him as he deserves."

There was a slight catch in her voice. Aedan nodded and bowed his head over her outstretched hand, touching it to his lips once again. He remained there until the door closed softly behind her retreating back, then straightened up slowly, that slender, golden-haired figure still gliding through his mind.

His meeting with the Queen had gone better than he dared hope for, but there were still other interviews he was dreading – Alistair and Morrigan chief among them. It would be best, he decided, to fortify himself with some food first. Bending the Landsmeet to his will, defeating a tyrant, and getting engaged to said tyrant's daughter in one morning was hungry work.

… …

After finishing his meal, he sought out Morrigan in the room they shared. She sat rigid in a chair facing the dressing-table mirror, her back to Aedan, almost as if she'd been expecting him. Aedan tensed, his instincts honed by several previous encounters with disappointed lovers, but he was not about to tolerate any feminine tantrums. _She_ had made the decision to end things between them, after all.

He waited for a second or two, and then took a step towards her. "Morrigan?"

She didn't answer immediately. "So there are to be wedding bells?" she said at last. "Did I hear this correctly?"

His heart sank. "You're upset, aren't you?"

"Upset? That you have decided to marry a queen?" She swung round to face him, a curious smile on her face. "Not at all. 'Tis a fine match."

"I'm glad you approve," he said, unable to keep a touch of irony out of his voice. "No hard feelings then, I take it?"

"No, indeed. I am simply curious as to what your bride-to-be might think… of me. Of us."

Aedan's eyes narrowed. "There is no 'us' any longer, surely? Unless I badly misunderstood what you said to me the other day."

"Ah, yes," she said slowly. "Sacrifices must be made for one's ambition. I quite understand."

He frowned slightly, puzzled by her cryptic words, and then understanding suddenly dawned. She believed he'd been planning this all along – that he'd already decided to marry Anora when he'd come to her that final time. He was about to protest, tell her the truth, but he stopped himself. What was the point, when she would never believe him in any case, and likely wouldn't think any better of him if she did?

Morrigan was watching him with a touch of amusement in her eyes. " 'Tis a human game, is it not? Where one must capture the queen in order to win?"

"You mean chess? Not quite. It's the king you have to capture." He paused. "Though the queen is the most powerful piece on the board."

"As it should be," she said with a smile. "Congratulations on your engagement, and so forth. Can we get back to matters at hand, now?"

She turned away, but somehow Aedan couldn't bring himself to leave it at that. He might never have been in love with Morrigan, but they had inevitably grown close during the many nights they'd spent together, and she deserved better than to be simply tossed aside. He walked up to her, studying her face in the mirror, and cautiously laid a hand on her shoulder.

"One moment, Morrigan," he said softly. "I don't want to leave without thanking you for what you did at the Landsmeet today – and not just that, but everything you've done for me since Ostagar. I doubt we'd even have got as far as Lothering without your help. I owe you a great deal."

She smiled. "You do, though 'tis foolish of you to admit it. And I _do_ have a favour to ask, in truth – but not yet. I will explain it all when the time is right."

"Whatever you like," he said instantly, guilt and relief briefly overcoming his better judgement.

Morrigan threw back her head and laughed. "Now _that_ is truly a foolish answer. You would offer me anything I ask for? Anything in the world?"

"Well, within reason," he clarified. "If you asked me to, say, help you sacrifice a hundred virgins for some demonic blood ritual, I might have to decline. But that hardly seems your style, anyway…"

"Indeed not," she said with a chuckle. "Very well. Be off with you."

Aedan was about to do as she asked, thankful for his reprieve, when a sudden thought struck him. He slid her enchanted ring off his finger, and held it out to her in the palm of his hand. "Do you want this back?"

"No." She shook her head vehemently. " 'Twas not a love token. It could still be of use, if we should ever need… for any reason… to contact each other."

"As you wish." He slipped the ring back onto his finger. When he looked up she was fidgeting uncomfortably, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Do you…" For the first time, her words were hesitant. "Would you… have me return this?" Her hands parted, and for the first time he saw what she'd been holding in her lap: the golden mirror he'd bought her in Orzammar.

Andraste's blood, was _that_ what had been worrying her? He almost had to laugh, that she was so much less willing to part with it than with him. But at the same time, he couldn't help feeling a touch of relief – and a certain pity for Morrigan, a woman who'd never received any gifts or favours that didn't come with strings attached.

"Of course not," he said evenly. "It was a gift to a friend."

"Thank you." She clasped her hand tightly around the engraved handle, as if to assure herself that it was truly hers. "Go, then. Go to your queen."

What Aedan actually wanted now was to go for a drink – or several – but no sooner had he left the room then he was waylaid by Alistair. He had to suppress a sigh; with Loghain's death still heavy on his conscience, his fellow Warden was the last person he wanted to see at that moment. "Yes?" he said, rather curtly.

"Oh, there you are." Alistair hesitated for a moment. "The others are heading over to the Gnawed Noble to celebrate. Are you planning to come?"

"For a little while, perhaps. I can't stay for long, though; I have to go to the palace later to see the Queen."

"Oh, um… yes, of course." Alistair's brow creased slightly. "I was wondering: could I talk to you for a moment? In private?"

"If you insist." He followed Alistair to the library, mentally preparing himself for a discussion that was sure to test his patience to the limit. But Alistair's first words to him were completely unexpected.

"I wanted to apologise for what happened at the Landsmeet." Before Aedan could even respond, he hurried on. "You know, I'd completely forgotten all those plans you made with Anora? I couldn't understand why you would want to spare Loghain, until…" He broke off, smacking a hand lightly against his forehead. "I almost ruined things for you, didn't I?"

Aedan paused for a moment, somewhat taken aback. "Yes," he said at last, with brutal frankness. "You did."

"Maker, I'm an idiot! I just didn't think." Alistair shook his head. "When Arl Eamon said I was going to be king I thought, 'That's it! Your worst fears have finally been realized!' But you didn't make me king... and Loghain still got what he deserved. Everything worked out, thanks to you."

"I suppose it did. In a sense."

"Anyway… I just wanted to thank you. And to apologise, like I said before." He shuffled his feet. "I know you probably see me as some kind of annoying kid brother, but even if that's true… I'm still proud to be your brother. That's all."

This was just close enough to the truth to cost Aedan a twinge of conscience. Despite his annoyance, he couldn't bring himself to berate the lad as he'd been intending. What good would it do now, anyway? His friend could be exasperating at times, but his heart was in the right place… mostly.

"I accept your apology," he said quietly. "And thank you. Brother."

They looked at each other. Alistair cleared his throat. "So. I guess this is the part where we hug awkwardly?"

They hugged, awkwardly. That done, Alistair breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, thank the Maker that's over. Shall we go for that drink now?"

"I think," Aedan said heavily, "that that would be an excellent idea."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

When Aedan approached the Palace that evening, his reception was very different from what it had been earlier in the day. Anora had clearly briefed the guards in advance; the mere mention of his name had them scurrying to inform Her Majesty that the Teyrn of Highever had arrived. He was swiftly escorted through to her private rooms, in a part of the palace he'd never seen before; the Landsmeets had mostly been confined to the throne room and the surrounding chambers. Under other circumstances, he would have liked to wander the corridors and explore the sumptuous apartments glimpsed through half-open doors.

He was slightly disconcerted to find Ser Cauthrien waiting for him outside the queen's chambers. Unlike Anora, she was no actress; she greeted Aedan with a baleful glare that left him in no doubt of her feelings towards him. For a moment her lips moved silently, as if she wanted to curse him, but didn't quite have the nerve.

"The queen has allowed me to join her personal guard," she said at last, sounding as if every word were being dragged out of her. "I'll keep her safe. Andraste watch over you, Warden."

"Thank you." Aedan had no desire to spend any time talking to Cauthrien. "Is the queen ready to receive me?"

"She is." The knight jerked her head towards a nearby door. It was against all rules of protocol for Aedan to enter the royal chambers unannounced, but Cauthrien clearly didn't know that, and wasn't about to stir from the spot where she stood. He sighed and went to open the door himself, hoping Anora would realise what had happened and not be offended.

In the event, she didn't even seem to notice. She greeted him politely, if not warmly, and smiled as he made his obeisance. But even as he bowed low he could feel her eyes on him, scrutinising him carefully.

"My lord teyrn," she said at last. It was the first time anyone had addressed Aedan by that title, and hearing it spoken in Anora's well-bred tones brought back a rush of unexpectedly painful memories. He swallowed hard, distracted by the sudden lump in his throat, and her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," he said gruffly. "It's only that… I always thought that title would belong to Fergus, not to me."

"Ah," she said softly, with a slight nod, and swiftly changed the subject. "I hope Ser Cauthrien wasn't too impolite. She's a good woman, but my father's death grieved her very deeply. She and he were… close."

"Were they…?"

"I'm not sure. I've never been inclined to ask." She shook her head. "I do know that he greatly respected her as a soldier, and she admired him enormously… worshipped him, almost. I believe she'll be loyal to me for his sake, if nothing else."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Anora smiled, and motioned to him to follow her. He glanced around him, taking in his surroundings, as the queen led him through a connecting door and into her private chamber.

Anora's bedchamber was not what he would have expected. Well, in some ways it was – colourful tapestries, elegantly-carved furniture, a dressing-table with perfumes and cosmetics – but what immediately drew his eye was the sheer number of _books_. Row upon row of them, carefully stacked together on shelves that lined the walls from floor to ceiling; lying in neat piles on her bedside table, or open on her desk. There were political treatises by authors Aedan had only vaguely heard of; books of poetry in several different languages; books on history and geography and economics, and more esoteric subjects such as cryptography; flowery romances, and tales of adventure on the high seas.

He gazed around in wonderment, suddenly realising how little he knew of the woman he was to marry. They'd known each other only a few days; to all intents and purposes, they were virtual strangers. She played so many roles, and played them to perfection: virtuous Queen, dutiful wife and daughter. What was the real Anora like, he wondered? And would he ever get to see her?

He turned to find her looking at him in amusement. "Are you admiring my collection?"

"I am. I didn't realise you were so fond of reading."

"I've always loved books. The palace has its own library, of course, but I prefer to keep my favourites where I can reach them easily." She ran a hand lovingly along the spines of the row nearest her. "Do you like to read, War- sorry, Aedan?"

"It depends on the book. I must admit that I spent more time in the training-yard as a boy than in the library." He thought for a moment. "Do you know 'The Dragons of Tevinter'?"

"Ah yes, Cailan always loved that one. Though I'm not sure it was Brother Timious' theories that appealed to him." She smiled a little wistfully, then shook her head as if to dismiss the memory. "But we have other things to discuss, do we not?"

"We do." He sat down in the chair she indicated. "Let's get to business. Highever is to be restored to me, along with my rights and titles?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course. Your family was never formally attainted, so there should be no objections. I'll announce it at our coronation, after the darkspawn are defeated." She paused for a moment. "I'll also send as many men as I can spare to help you take back the castle. I wish I could do more, but under the circumstances…"

Aedan grimaced and nodded. "There may not be many to spare. Alfstanna has already offered me some of her bowmen, so that should be of some help. And I imagine that many of Howe's men will desert him once the money stops flowing."

"From what I've heard of the rabble his army has become, that seems very likely," she agreed. "And what of Amaranthine? Howe still has living children, I believe."

"Yes. Two sons… and his daughter Delilah." He felt a touch of pity for the shy, mousy girl he'd once assumed he'd marry, but not nearly enough to overcome his still-simmering hatred of her father. "It will have to be taken from them, of course. I don't want to take vengeance on the innocent, but I can't leave Amaranthine to Howe's heirs. It would be madness."

"I understand." Her lips tightened. "And then there is the matter of Alistair Theirin. I won't deny, Warden, that I would prefer to have him as far away from my court as possible. Especially after today's… _performance_ at the Landsmeet."

Aedan sighed; he had known this subject would have to come up at some point. "Well, that will depend on the Wardens. I'll see what I can do, but remember that he is my friend." Their eyes met. "I'm not defending how he acted at the Landsmeet, your Majesty, but he had good reason to be angry at your father. He lost a great deal at Ostagar."

"As did we all," she said coldly. "Yet some of us managed to control our grief without acting like spoiled children. Whatever my father's crimes, he did not deserve to die as he did today, cut down without even a trial to satisfy Alistair's bloodlust. He was a hero, and a patriot, and his death was a travesty."

"I agree." Aedan felt his throat tighten, but he kept his voice calm and steady. "He didn't deserve to die that way, and if there were any way I could undo it, I would."

"Yet you allowed it." Her eyes bored into him. "I'm not accusing you of breaking your promise. But don't tell me you couldn't have prevented it if you'd really wished to. Alistair is not the kind of man to resist a stronger will than his own."

"You played your part willingly enough – " He spoke before he could stop himself, but broke off as he saw the colour drain from her face.

"I know." Her voice was low, but her usual composure had deserted her. "Do you think I will _ever_ forget? I tried to find a way to save my father, and I failed. I will remember my part in his death to the end of my life. You don't need to remind me of this, Warden!"

"Forgive me," he said abruptly. "I didn't mean to cause you pain."

She stared at him for a moment, then stood abruptly and walked to the window. Aedan hesitated, unsure whether to follow her. After a moment, he stood and walked over to her, laying his hands gently on her shoulders. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her, but she didn't resist his touch.

"I only wish…" Her voice was thick with grief. "I wish he could have lived to see the outcome of the Landsmeet. I'm afraid he died thinking that I would be punished for his mistakes."

"But he did know." She stiffened under his touch. "Didn't you see the way he glanced at you when he talked about protecting Ferelden? I'll say this for your father, Anora: he wasn't stupid."

She turned to him, and he was relieved to see that her eyes were still dry, though suspiciously bright. "You mean… he had guessed our plans? Are you sure of this?"

"Quite sure."

"Then… I thank you," she said quietly. "That takes a great weight off my mind."

She drew several long breaths, steadying herself. Finally she walked over to her dressing table, on which stood a decanter of wine and some goblets. "A cup of wine, my lord? I imagine that a drink would do us both some good."

"I've had several already today, but I won't say no." Aedan settled back into his chair. "Will you answer me one question, Anora?" he asked, as she busied herself with the decanter. "Did you truly believe your father was planning to kill you?"

"Ah." She paused, briefly, her hand still hovering over a goblet. "I… was not totally honest with you there, I must confess. Erlina overheard Arl Howe talking with my father while I was imprisoned, suggesting that I should be killed. According to her, he refused." She set down the cup and turned to face him. "Whether he might have changed his mind later, or Howe might have taken matters into his own hands… I can't say. And I certainly didn't care to wait and find out."

"Well, that I can certainly understand. But what you said at the Landsmeet…?"

She looked at him in disbelief. "This is _politics_, Aedan. There's no room for half-measures – my father knew that as well as anyone. Would you have had me act half-heartedly, and risk losing the debate?"

"No, certainly not. I just can't help wondering whether you'd have denounced me just as… wholeheartedly."

A faint, wry smile touched her lips. "I'll leave you to determine that for yourself, my lord."

She sat down opposite him, and they sipped their wine in silence, a touch less awkward and more companiable than before. "So when is the wedding to take place?" Aedan asked at last.

"As soon as possible, I hope. I'd prefer to hold the ceremony before winter sets in." She sighed. "It won't be as grand as my wedding to Cailan, I fear – there is simply no money left. But I will do the best I can."

"And after we're married?"

"You're asking what our relationship will be, I assume?" He nodded. "Very well: let us be honest with each other. I understand that you and the witch-woman are… involved with each other?"

Aedan wondered who had told her, or if she'd simply guessed. "Were," he said tersely.

"Ah. It has ended, then?"

He nodded again, unwilling to elaborate; though he hadn't loved Morrigan, he had his pride, and her rejection still stung. "I see. I hope she understands this as clearly as you do."

"She does," he assured her. "To be quite honest, your Majesty, we both knew it would have to end at some point. I couldn't have married her even if I wished to, and I respect her too much to ask her to be my mistress. Besides, she… isn't the type to want to bear my children and play housewife." He smiled slightly. "She always told me that love is a weakness, and she'd have nothing to do with it. And since that suited me perfectly, I took her at her word."

"Not always a wise thing to do in matters of the heart, my lord," she said, with a soft laugh. "Well, so be it. But you were speaking of our marriage?"

"May I ask you a personal question, Anora?" She nodded. "Do you enjoy sex? With men, I mean?"

Her brows shot up. " 'With men?' What sort of a question is that?"

"An honest one." He glanced towards the door. "You and your maid seem very… close. I thought perhaps…"

"Ah." A soft sigh escaped her, and she shook her head. "Erlina has been in my service since I was seventeen years old. She's probably the only friend of my own age and sex that I've ever had. If you asked me if I love her, I would have to say yes… but not in the way you are imagining."

"A pity. I was starting to get my hopes up."

She shook her head at him, a reluctant smile on her lips. "To answer your original question… well, it depends. You must remember that I've only ever had one lover. I was a maiden when we married, and Cailan… was used to having women exert themselves to please him, rather than the other way round. But he was strong and handsome, and yes, there were times when I enjoyed it." She shrugged. "Whether it would be the same with any other man… I can't say."

"I shall have to do better, then," he said lightly, and then grew more serious. "Listen, Anora: I want to be faithful to you. You're a beautiful woman, and – " he felt the early stirrings of desire once again – "I'd like to be your lover as well as your husband. But if you're not willing…"

One of the fair brows arched icily. "Then you will consider yourself at liberty to take your… pleasures… where you please?"

"I didn't say that." Aedan fought down his irritation, keeping his tone steady. Maker, he ought to have known better than to speak to her so bluntly – for all Anora's pragmatism, she was still a woman. But it was too late to take his words back.

"All I ask is that you give me a chance," he continued. "If you want this to be a marriage in name only, so be it. But I'll tell you one thing, Anora: I'm not willing to live as a monk. If you expect that of me, we may as well end our 'arrangement' now, while we still have the chance."

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "I see," she said at last, with a cool shrug. "Very well. If you wish for a chance to prove yourself… I will give you one."

As if she were agreeing to take on a servant rather than a husband, he thought, with wry amusement. Anora was going to be a challenge, that was clear; he wished there were a way to prove his intentions were serious. If only he could skip the formalities and marry her… at once…

An idea was taking shape, one of those sudden bright flashes that struck him like a bolt of lightning. He leaned towards Anora, gesturing towards the connecting door. "Tell me. Can Erlina be trusted?"

"Of course, but – "

Aedan was already out of his chair, hastening over the door. He rapped sharply, several times, and moments later it opened to reveal a surprised-looking Erlina. "My lord?"

"Erlina, is there a chapel here in the palace?" She nodded. "Then go there, and fetch a priest here to us. Quickly."

Anora stood hastily. "You will do nothing of the sort, Erlina!"

The maid hesitated, glancing from one to the other. "Just go, Erlina," Aedan urged her. "I'll explain things to your mistress in the meantime. Go." He steered her gently but firmly out of the door, closing it behind her before she or Anora had the chance to object.

He turned back to meet Anora's fulminating gaze. "Overruling my orders to my servants is hardly a way to win my trust, my lord!"

Aedan held up a hand. "I'm sorry, Anora. Just let me tell you what I have in mind – "

"I know exactly what you have in mind." Her glare was sharp enough to pin him to the wall. "Are you really _that_ desperate to bed me, Warden?"

"Just let me explain. Please." She looked at him, saying nothing. "If I die in battle, all the plans we've made will be for nothing. You'll be in the same situation we discussed before the Landsmeet. But if I were to marry you first, get you with child…"

"It would be your heir." She paused. "A Cousland."

He nodded. "Precisely. Even if you didn't get pregnant, you'd still have my name to protect you, and you'd inherit my teyrnir to give to whom you choose. Of course I hope that won't be necessary, but…"

There was a long silence. "I think," Anora said at last, "that I need another cup of wine."

She walked to the dresser and poured herself one, then turned back to face Aedan. "Suppose," she said carefully, "that I were to agree to this insane marriage. You propose to consummate it here, tonight?"

"Yes."

"And if you _do_ survive the war, how are we to explain this to the nobility? Royal marriages are supposed to be public. They'll never accept one contracted in such a… clandestine manner."

Aedan shrugged. "They won't need to know, will they? There's no law against getting married twice, as far as I'm aware. We can give the nobles and the people their spectacle, and no one will be any the wiser."

"I suppose not." She hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "All right, you've convinced me. But on your head be it, my lord teyrn."

"I hope you're more willing to call me 'Aedan' once we're married," he remarked. She sighed again, and drained the remainder of her goblet in one most unladylike gulp.

When Erlina arrived with the priest, Aedan was pleased to see that she'd chosen wisely: a woman old and worldly enough not to be shocked or flustered by his request, but not enough that she had the nerve to raise objections. She'd clearly performed several marriage ceremonies before, as she appeared to know the order of service almost by heart. As she busied herself with the preparations, Anora laid a hand on Aedan's arm. "Do you have a ring?" she whispered.

He hesitated, glancing down at his fingers. Morrigan's ring clearly wouldn't do for the purpose, but he had another with magical enchantments that he wore for protection. "Yes, this one. Do you?"

She nodded and went swiftly to her jewellery box to retrieve one, seemingly picking it at random. Mother Constantia hastened to the chapel to fetch some documents, and when she returned, the ceremony began.

Stripped of all the usual pomp and grandeur, the wedding itself seemed remarkably brief. Aedan and Anora listened as Mother Constantia recited the customary prayers, and explained the duties of a married couple. They exchanged vows and rings, and signed the papers with Erlina as witness. A brief, chaste kiss on the lips, and suddenly it was over; Anora Theirin _neé_ Mac Tir, Queen of Ferelden, was now Anora Cousland, his wife.

It hardly felt real to him, even less so once the priest had departed and Erlina returned to her own room. Of all the ways he'd ever imagined his wedding, a clandestine marriage to the Queen in her bedchamber must have been furthest from his mind. He longed to make a joke of some kind, say something to lighten the atmosphere, but nothing came to mind.

"So," he said at last. "I suppose there's only one duty left to perform."

"I suppose there is." She shook her head, looking flushed and slightly uncertain, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "Tell me, does this feel as… _strange_ to you as it does to me? I believe… I need another drink."

Her hand reached out for the decanter, but Aedan laid his hand on her arm to restrain her. "Call me picky," he said dryly, "but I prefer my bedmates to be both willing _and_ conscious."

She let out a sound between a laugh and a gasp, and Aedan realised his instincts had been correct: she was already more than a little tipsy. "Very well," she said, with a resigned smile. "Willing and conscious it is, my lord."

She began to unpin her hair, but again Aedan stopped her. "May I?"

"If you wish."

"I'll deal with the gown first." He unlaced her gown and the silken shift beneath as speedily as years of practice would allow, cursing whoever it was that designed women's clothing. When it hung loose around her shoulders, he paused to let her remove her shoes and stockings. Then he began to take the pins out of her hair, gently teasing out the coiled braids until it fell in a rich golden waterfall down her back.

He ran a hand down the small of her back, longing to feel that silky hair beneath his fingers, and was startled when she winced and flinched away from him. He suddenly realised why: beneath the cloud of hair, the skin on her back and shoulderblades was mottled with ugly purplish bruises. Looking closer, he could see more bruises on the sides of her neck: finger marks, where a powerful hand had grabbed her by the throat and viciously squeezed.

Aedan drew a long breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "You told me he didn't hurt you."

"What? Oh... Howe. I had almost forgotten." She fingered her neck gingerly. "Yes, I upset him by asking too many questions. He threw me against a wall and pinned me there. When I refused to be intimidated by him, he threatened to have me tortured and violated, and then kill me and blame it on the Wardens."

The bile rising in Aedan's throat threatened to choke him. Was there anything that creature had touched that he hadn't defiled somehow? "Were you afraid?" he said thickly.

"At that time? More angry than afraid, I think. I wasn't truly afraid until later, when…" Her voice trailed off. "Never mind. I'd rather not speak of it."

"Then don't." He brushed the hair back from her face. "Let's not waste any more words on him. In fact – " his voice grew lower and rougher – "let's not waste any more at all."

He slid his arms around her and pulled her to her feet, sliding the gown and shift off her shoulders so that they pooled around her ankles. His warm lips grazed her neck – careful to avoid the bruises – while his hands trailed over her body, the smooth, unblemished skin a wonderful contrast to his own calloused fingers. She felt smaller and more fragile than she looked, her waist so slender that he could almost have spanned it with both hands. As his thumb brushed against the side of her breast, a slight shudder ran through her – whether of fear, attraction or some other emotion, he couldn't tell.

He pulled her round to face him and kissed her on the lips, gently at first, then more forcefully. She tasted of wine and something sweet, perhaps almonds. He was sliding his arms around her to hold her close when she suddenly and unexpectedly jerked away. "Aedan… please. I can't bear it."

Aedan's hands instantly stilled and he backed away, surprised and slightly aggrieved. It wasn't the first time a woman had rejected his caresses, but the force of her resistance shocked him. "Do you really find me so repulsive, Anora?"

"What? I – no. It isn't that." She looked up at him, and he realised to his horror that her eyes were wet. "My father died today, Aedan – by your command. I had hoped I might have _one_ night to mourn him before we leave for Redcliffe."

Aedan's hand dropped to his side. Andraste's arse, how could he have been such a fool? So carried away with his 'brilliant' idea that he'd all but forgotten what had occurred that day at the Landsmeet?

"Forgive me, my lady." He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to grate out his next words against all inclination. "I'll leave, if you wish."

She gave him a rather forced smile. "That would rather defeat the point of the marriage, wouldn't it? No, we need to do this. Just… please don't try to be loving or tender. Not tonight. I'm not sure I could bear it."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

She shrugged, as if it were a matter of indifference to her. "Whatever you wish. Whatever pleases you."

Aedan sucked in a breath, his mouth suddenly dry, his skin heated. "It's been some time since I last bedded M- a woman," he said gruffly. "I can't promise to be gentle."

"Whatever you wish," she repeated. They gazed at each other for a long moment. Finally he nodded, bent down, and gathered her up into his arms.

He carried her to the bed and laid her down there, drawing back the covers to make room for them both. She watched him quizzically, resting her head on her hand, as he drew the curtains around the bed – "to muffle the sound," he explained, in answer to her unspoken question. That done, he divested himself of his own clothes as quickly as possible, and turned to look at his new bride.

His breath caught. In the dim light that filtered through the curtains, she looked impossibly lovely – stretched out naked on the bed, her golden hair tumbled about her shoulders, like a picture of one of the old Tevinter goddesses. And she was his – the Queen of Ferelden. Maker, what had he done to deserve this?

He was hard already, his groin throbbing almost painfully with every beat of his heart. Cautiously he lay down beside her and studied her face, knowing he'd find it difficult to stop if she changed her mind later on. She met his gaze steadily; there was no enthusiasm in her eyes, but no reluctance either.

Aedan knew how she was grieving behind the mask, knew he ought to play the gentleman and leave, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was a month since he'd last slept with Morrigan, and he'd never found it easy to go without female companionship for long periods. As for 'gentility', any pretence to that had died along with his family and friends at Highever Castle. He'd married Anora to take back what he'd lost; it was time to seal the bargain once and for all.

He wrapped his arms around her, shifting her onto her side so that he wouldn't crush her with his weight, and pressed her body against his. His lips clamped down on her neck in a kiss that was far from loving or tender. A breathy sigh escaped her, and that small, soft sound almost tipped him over the edge. All doubts and scruples briefly forgotten, he parted her thighs with rough, probing fingers, and lost himself in the pleasures of the marriage bed.


End file.
